


writ & wisdom

by brandflakeeee



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M, Gen, aka the victorian au that no one asked for, featuring denial of being in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-05-20 13:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14895273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandflakeeee/pseuds/brandflakeeee
Summary: Six children in need of a governess who is kind, clever, and well read.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, it's me. This has been in my head for ages and I finally put it to paper. Well, text. Do enjoy!

_Six children in need of a governess who is kind, clever, and well read._

Olivia Caliban had spotted the very short, to the point advertisement and had been curious, but hadn’t had need to think it over; she had a fine job, one where she was very happy at her father’s bookstore. She’d been having such a lovely morning when she’d spotted the request, just nestled under an advertisement looking for new nurses at a hospital, among other things. She’d dismissed it all without a thought, finished her breakfast, and went to work.

Three hours later, she was out of a job.

She’d fought long and hard to keep the bookstore – it had been her father’s when he’d passed, and as Olivia had been his only child she had inherited it. That hadn’t sat well with the solicitors and despite her parents’ strict instructions that the shop was to go to no one else but her, Olivia had been unkindly outed with the excuse that she was not a male heir, and could do nothing to keep the property. She’d said very unkind words, but in the end had been forced to pack her meager belongings from the flat above the shop, and find a new source of income. And home.

She was determined she would have the shop back. Even if she had to spend years earning the money back. The money that had belonged to her father was untouchable now, and the thought made her all the more angry. None the less, Olivia Caliban would not be left out in the cold. She was strong, independent, and had excellent references.

The advertisement had stared her back in the face until she’d caved during a quick bite at a corner deli, half curious and half needy. She had never been much of a tutor or governess, but she thought the other qualifications listed fit her perfectly. She’d hastily scribbled the address down, and set off at once. It was a house and a job all in one, and even if she worried perhaps the children would be absolute terrors, she would be brave and noble and do her very best.

The noise of the mid-afternoon surrounded her as she walked down the sidewalk, trying to avoid the others out for a stroll or clearly in a hurry, judging by their paces. Carriages rolled by on the cobbled street, street merchants calling out to sell fruit or pies, candy or salted meats – it was an atmosphere Olivia had grown used to over the years until it became little more than background noise on her walk. The city was always so terribly busy; she fancied taking a trip to the country just to hear _nothing_. Clearly that would be put off for some indeterminable amount of time, given her finances were now very slim. She could hear everything perfect that particular morning, however, each shout and hit of a shoed foot, her senses hyper-aware. The city was _loud_ , and it made her miss her quiet flat above the bookshop all the more. Things were never quite so loud in a place with books.

She turned a corner onto the listed street, glancing up at the buildings. They were fine structures, houses that Olivia felt for a moment she had no business being at. Her parents had been well off and she’d never wanted for much of anything growing up. Yet these elegantly styled homes seemed quite beyond her bringing up. Perhaps it would be best to turn around and find another position interviewing. Surely she would be so far out of her element among this sort, the types to host the glamourous parties and social gatherings Olivia did her best to avoid.

_Six children in need of a governess who is kind, clever, and well read._

Well-read governesses were hard to find, though . . . she’d hate for bright-minded youth to suffer in their educations because they ended up with a governess who was not at all clever. Or kind. Olivia fancied herself kind; she tried to be, at the very least. Most never noticed her, so it was rather easy. The few social functions she’d attended Olivia had very happily stood to the back of the room, nursing punch and waiting until it would be a polite time to excuse herself and go home.

No. She could do this.

She _needed_ this.

The house listed was somewhat nondescript, at least on the outside. It looked like every other home on the street, large and well kept. It looked inviting, at the very least. Yes. She could do this. Olivia gathered her skirts in one hand and took the steps with only the tiniest bit of hesitation and a worrying feeling in the pit of her stomach. She felt so far out of her element, awash in a vast sea of unknown. But Olivia Caliban is brave.

At least, she tries to be.

As she raised her hand to ring the bell, the door swung open with a sudden fierceness that Olivia took a step back. Thankfully, because a woman her own height with a pile of blonde hair and a dark expression swept from the front door. Olivia was nearly knocked over as the woman stomped down the steps with as much dramatic flair she could manage, and hauled herself into a waiting carriage at the curb. It happened so quickly Olivia had only half a second to process it before the carriage took off down the street.

Well then.

“May I help you?”

There’s an older girl standing in the doorway, looking unbothered at the woman who’s just left in such a hissy fit befitting someone of the age of four. The girl’s face is kind, dark hair pulled back into a ribbon and wearing a dress the colour of lavender. Olivia blinked.

“Ah, yes? I was responding to the posting in the newspaper . . . ?”

The girl smiled warmly, and stepped aside.

“Please, come in.”

She obeyed, stepping into a grand entryway that was as warm and inviting as it was beautiful. It looked lived in, not cold and sterile like some houses she’d been inside of. The girl headed down a hallway and Olivia assumed she is meant to follow, so she does. Vaguely she tried to peer into other rooms, curious, but in the end she’d been too worried about being lost if she didn’t pay attention to the way the girl was headed. She turned into a room off the main hall and when Olivia made the same turn, she is both surprised and awed to find herself in a _very_ well stocked library.

She’s struck by the sudden melancholy that she’s without her books. All of them had been so carefully and lovingly stored at the bookshop. The solicitors had not allowed her to take them, and it had very nearly broken her heart.

Seeing so many books in one place helped heal the hole in her heart just a margin of an inch.

“I’m Violet,” The girl from before spoke and Olivia realized she’d been staring at the shelves, not her host. She finds there are five other children in the room of varying ages, and suddenly she felt like she were facing solicitors all over again. Young solicitors. With slightly kinder faces.

“These are my siblings, Klaus and Sunny.” She gestured to the dark haired boy, who had a small toddler in his lap. “And Isadora, Quigley, and Duncan.” The three near identical children were wedged together on a sofa, staring at Olivia with such scrutiny that it made her worry immediately.

“It’s lovely to meet you.” Olivia smiled, despite such. “Olivia Caliban.”

It’s then she also comes to the realization that none of them are adults in any sense of the word. She has yet to see _any_ adult, except the dramatic woman who’d run out the front.

“You responded to our newspaper advertisement for the governess position?” The one girl, Isadora, asked politely and Olivia nodded.

“I did. I admit entirely I’ve never been a governess before, but I like to read, and introduce wonderful books to others as much as I can.”

“Are you trustworthy?”

Olivia’s brows knitted together at Klaus; what a strange question for a boy.

“Yes? I mean, I’ve never given anyone a reason _not_ to trust me. I keep secrets that are told to me. I’ve never turned my back on someone who needs me. I, ah, I have a list of references and some of my other qualifications if you’d like.” She said and withdraws the freshly crisp and written paperwork she’d hastily put together over lunch. She offered out copies to each of them before returning to the spot she’d been standing before. Silence settled as they read, and Olivia let her gaze drift back to the shelves. The books look to be a mix of old and new, some so aged she couldn’t make out the titles on the worn spines. Their condition still looked better than some, and Olivia was quietly impressed they’ve had such a loving caretaker – or caretakers, her mind adds with a glance back over to the six children who apparently have placed such a strange advertisement.

Perhaps she wasn’t so entirely out of place after all.

“Your mother seemed upset.” She said, for all her attempts at casual conversation. Each of them looked at her confused, before the youngest of them all, Sunny, interrupted.

“Fashion!”

“What my sister means to say is that woman is _not_ our mother.” Klaus frowned, and Olivia didn’t miss the dark expression that colored their faces. “We don’t even like her.”

“We don’t have parents.” Violet added, quieter and Olivia felt her stomach and heart both lurch. “They died. All four of them in separate fires.”

“Certainly you don’t live here alone?” Olivia asked before she could stop herself, concern evident in her tone. She can’t imagine six children in a house like this, alone and uncared for.

“No, we have a guardian. But he put us in charge of finding ourselves a teacher and governess.”

Had their guardian so clearly forsaken them to such a point? That these children were forced to find a proper educator and care-er on their own? Olivia felt a sudden surge of what she could only assume to be maternal instinct to the children. Surely they weren’t old enough to be on their own in a house so large without someone older for company and care.

“Your guardian isn’t home?” She asked, delicately, mindful of her word choosing. She still needed this job, and already she wanted to protect these children. She could see it in their eyes, the sheer maturity forced upon them. No chance to be proper children.

“His work takes him away suddenly here or there.” Duncan said, and Olivia noted how cautious he was being in his own phrasing. “It’s why we’ve in need of someone like you.”

“Oh. Of course.” She didn’t feel like putting her own foot anymore further into her mouth, as the expression went, so Olivia snapped it shut and cast her gaze down to the aged floors covered in decorated rugs. It was a well used room, clearly, judging from the furniture marks on the wood and the clear threadbare spots on the rugs visible from the daylight filtering in the arching windows behind the children. The candles in their spots along the wall looked nearly burned to the nubs, used up entirely with wax dripping along the edges. Very well lived in. The whole house gave off the vibe; perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad position at all. Especially if she had access to such an extensive collection of books. Perhaps one of them would give her answers on how to legally obtain her bookshop back. At the very least, her flat and the books she had been forced to abandon.

“Do you have a favorite book?” Quigley asked suddenly, and Olivia snapped her gaze back to the other triplet. Her smile came unbidden – she could discuss such a topic in varying and vast amounts of length, and would so happily if given the chance.

“That’s a very loaded question for a librarian. Might you narrow it down to fiction or non, at the very least?”

“Your current favorite?”

“ _Idylls of the King_ by Alfred, Lord Tennison. The retelling of the legends in poetry brings it to life in a way I can’t put into words, and his clear written commentary on the present day climate within certainly makes one think.”

There was a pause, and Olivia worried that perhaps she’d said the wrong thing – but it was better to be honest in interviews, was it not? It was her _current_ favorite at the very least; she often cycled through several favorite books every few months, depending on her current situation and what genre she happened to be picking through at the time. 

"What do you consider important in learning?" Duncan asked. Olivia felt as if she were being questioned by a panel of detectives.

"That one should learn as much as possible, but not just from lessons. The world as well. One never quite stops learning, in my opinion."

"How do you feel about Isadora and Violet and Sunny learning the same as us?" Klaus asked next. Most girls received very little education, she knew. Olivia had been a rare exception and only because her father had taught her everything and more. 

"I think it should be expected that girls are just as clever as boys and deserve to gain knowledge as much as any man. You should be tutored equally on all subjects."

"Would you be opposed to living here in the house?"

"I would prefer it, actually. A more stable household is a far better environment."

They seemed satisfied for a moment. Olivia crossed her fingers behind her back, willing that despite the rather hellish start to her day, she might find a moment of relief for being hired as a governess to six very kind, clever, and well-read children. The six exchanged looks, communicating without speaking in a way Olivia was almost jealous of. Almost. The bond of siblings and friends was never something she'd had all her own.

“How soon can you start?” Violet asked suddenly, glancing at the other children. Olivia blinked.

“Um, immediately? I’m – I have no other commitments.” Or a house.

“Perfect.” Isadora beamed, and stood from the overstuffed sofa. “You’re hired, Ms. Caliban.”

“You don’t want to consult your guardian?”

“As we said, he gave us full permission.” Klaus replied. “He’ll be home later tonight, to meet you.”

Olivia nodded, wringing her hands on a frayed edge of her sleeve; a nervous habit.

“I have on request, if I am to accept.”

“Of course.”

Olivia smiled for the first time genuinely that day, glancing at the children each in turn. Their warm faces. The sharpness of the world reflected in their eyes.

“You must call me Olivia.”


	2. chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia meets her missing employer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope this chapter is enjoyable; it isn't terribly long, but I wanted to get it out before I got too nit-picky on it. A lot of filler in this one. 
> 
> Also, I changed the rating - I didn't notice I'd set it as M when this will definitely not stray toward that territory. Not with what I have planned at the moment.

It took Olivia three days to establish a routine that left herself and the children quite satisfied. While she had never been a teacher of any sort, she had worked out somewhat of a plan for a month and a half of studies. The six proved to be quite clever and intelligent, if not somewhat shy in showcasing themselves to her. As she had only known them three days, Olivia hadn’t asked and they had offered no answers of their own. One day, perhaps. She envisioned herself a protector of sorts over these children, and wanted them both to like and trust her. Small steps.

In the three days, more of the house had been revealed to her, including a room of her very own. Easily the size of the small flat above the bookshop, if not larger. Olivia had been pleased to find it was not some long forgotten bedroom in an attic corner; instead it was never the children’s rooms and afforded her a window that looked out onto the street below. There was an older woman who came to tidy up each morning, one of three staff members she had been introduced to – the others being a part-time cook and a kind older gentleman who did a myriad of things, including grooming, gardening, and general other odd jobs. They seemed happy; Olivia hoped she would be too. For a while. She didn’t dare rely on holding the position forever. Children grew out of needed governesses.

But it would do until she could sort out gaining her father’s shop back from whatever sinister destiny the solicitors had concocted for it.

In three days, Olivia had not seen a glimpse of the owner of the home, the ‘guardian’ so praised by her charges. In kind, they discussed their guardian, and Olivia had yet to see him do any sort of guardian business. She hadn’t seen him at all; her only vision was the one the children painted for her with words. She had half a mind to shout the doors down at him for being so neglectful, but was reminded she was now on said mysterious guardian’s payroll. Olivia nearly bit her tongue in two in her efforts to keep remarks to herself when any of the others mentioned him.

“Olivia?”

Looking up from being lost in thought, Olivia blinked rapidly and turned her gaze to Klaus.

“Yes?”

“You looked miles away.” He said, face an apologetic sort of smile. “Did we choose a terrible book?”

The day had been lovely and mild, and fresh air had been needed. So she’d gathered a picnic lunch and set out for the park, the six in tow. A mother duck ushering her ducklings. They were all spread out along a large blanket in the grass, and were clearly not the only ones out enjoying the break in weathered grey. Couples and families were sprinkled along the grassy knoll, some right up to the edges of the large lake that ran the length of the park. A boat or two dotted the water, dogs barked in the distance; all in all, a perfect day to spend with a book.

“Not at all, Klaus. I was just thinking of something to add to your lessons, is all. Please. Continue.”

Klaus opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it and returned to reading aloud from a worn copy of the book they’d chosen that morning before setting out. The children were taking turns reading passages, and Olivia smiled at how quickly she had grown accustom to them. Three days seemed like no time at all, and already Olivia had an instinctive fondness to protect them from the world. No sir, there would be no one allowed to steal their bookstores out from under them.

Olivia’s mind went back to dwell on her invisible employer. There were what she could only assume were family paintings in the parlor – one a handsome older man painted next to a beautiful, bright eyed woman. She had studied the painting for a while late one evening, trying to blend the faces together to have some idea of what her strange employer looked like, at the very least. Nothing had come to mind, and no combination of eye colour, hair colour, strong or soft cheekbones, sharp or curved jaws, or slopes of noses seemed right in her eye.  A small part of her worried terribly the children had been abandoned, that perhaps they had lied to her about having a guardian, but the three household staff talked just as fondly of the man themselves.

All Olivia knew was his name: Jacques Snicket. Even that hadn’t been told to her; there was a large tapestry like sheet that hung in the library she hadn’t noticed on her first visit. A family tree, sewn so carefully in shining thread with golden tendrils linking names all along the Snicket line. At the bottom had been Jacques Snicket’s name, along with two she hadn’t been able to make out – though whether it was worn or someone had ripped the threads out, she hadn’t had time to investigate. It certainly warranted a second inspection, a detailed one. The Snicket family was curious, if not a bit reclusive in their nature. No one knew where their money came from, much less how they spent it beyond a lovely house. It wasn't her business, but it didn't stop her from being naturally curious as to what secrets the Snickets might have. If any. For all Olivia knew they were perfectly ordinary and dull. 

She knew the last name, and couldn’t fathom why she hadn’t realized it sooner. Snickets were old money in the city, and had lived there for generations. As long as anyone could remember, or so her mother had once told her. Olivia had never met them and their paths had never crossed, but she remembered reading a newspaper article, once. Lemony Snicket (whom she could only assume to be Jacques’ brother) had written a review of a play she had seen, once. She hadn’t agreed with a lot of it, but it had been well written. Two days later his name had graced the front page as missing and later, it had listed his obituary. She'd been surprised along with the rest of the city, though she hadn't met him face to face there had been a great sadness knowing someone capable of such prose had been erased from the world. Another voice lost.

She tried to remember what the photo in the paper had looked like. Her mind drew a blank.

“I think we’ve gotten enough sun for one day.” Olivia declared as Klaus finished reading the passage. In her arms and despite her bonnet, Sunny’s nose and cheeks were freckling and turning a soft red. “We can return home, and resume reading tomorrow. You might consider the themes presented in the passages on the way home. I won’t test you on them, but I should like to discuss it and know your thoughts on what the author says versus what he truly means by it.”

Together the lot of them picked the remains of their lunch and tossed them in a basket that Quigley carried, with Duncan throwing the blanket over his arm. Klaus offered his arms out for Sunny and Olivia handed the youngest over with a gentle ease and a soft smile; the sun had worn the poor girl out as well, it seemed, dozing as she was. Olivia readjusted the bonnet to shade more of her skin, and earned a soft mumble in return.

“She says thank you.” Klaus said, without needing to. Olivia smiled warmly and started off for home. Clouds were already threatening the skies in the distance; the nice weather didn’t seem to want to hold. She hoped they would make it back before the clouds opened and drenched them all; as amusing as it would be, she didn’t fancy having to explain it to the housekeeper as they trudged puddles all across the entryway. Much less if any of them came down with a cold after.

“Jacques should be home tomorrow.” Isadora said, falling into step beside Olivia as they wound down the less crowded streets along the curbs. “He makes it a point to have dinner with us on Sundays. He makes it a point to have dinner with us every night when he can.”

“What is it he does, exactly? What work keeps him away for such strange periods of time?”

Isadora’s brows furrowed gently.

“I don’t – that is to say, we really don’t know. He doesn’t tell us much, just stories that I don’t know if are truth or embellished for the sake of enjoyment. This is the longest he’s been gone in a while.”

“How long have you been under his care?”

“A year and a half, nearly. After the fire they tried to split us up, but Jacques heard of our case and came to our rescue. Took us in so they couldn’t separate us. Violet, Klaus, and Sunny weren’t far behind. They’d come from a few other guardians before him, but none of them stuck.” Isadora explained quietly. Olivia had known only some of the story to them, that fires had taken out both sets of their parents. She couldn’t fathom. Though Olivia had become an orphan herself many years ago, so she felt an aching sympathy in her heart for them, so young to have lost already so much.

“I think you’ll like him. Jacques. He’s very nice.” Isadora continued on.

“I shall be very curious to meet him. To put a face with the name."

"He's a bit strange, once you get to know him. But my siblings and I owe him everything. He's been very kind to us. We haven't wanted for anything."

"Except a clever governess?" Olivia replied, and Isadora smiled brightly.

"Except that. And now we have one. I do hope you'll stay?"

"As long as I'm needed, you have my word."

They turned the corner onto the street of the Snicket home, and immediately Quigley, Violet, and Duncan broke out into a run toward the house before Olivia could stop them, cackling all the way. Wildly inappropriate, she knew, as they raced each other for the front door in a fast sprint. Isadora perked up and trailed after them immediately, Klaus following at a slow, but slightly faster pace with Sunny in his arms. Olivia hid a smile as she watched them barrel down the sidewalk, a rare moment reclaimed from their lost childhoods. Who was she to deny them of that? They showed it so rarely, the fact that they were still just that – children. Who had been forced to grow up far too fast.

Olivia was determined to bring more of it out in each of them. Not that she had an exact plan, but their laughter and smiles were rare as it were, and they deserved to feel such freedoms far more.

“Watch it!”

Lost in her thoughts, Olivia felt someone careen hard into her shoulder. Caught off guard, she sidestepped in an attempt to regain balance, stumbling slightly into the cobblestoned street. A wash of colour swirled around her, she heard a horse whinny loudly somewhere to her right and stomp down right where she had just been standing. Reaching out blindly to try and steady herself, her fingers touched fur and held fast. It was almost dizzying the speed at which it happened. Olivia reeled from the bump, the near trip, and the sensation of warm fuzz against her fingers. 

Righting herself, Olivia’s eyes widened as she realized she’d latched onto a horse. It looked almost as surprised as she did, and immediately she jerked her hand away in fright. The horse snorted and for the first time, Olivia recognized that the horse was not alone and had a rider. Her head tilted up to follow the hands that held tight to the reigns, and met the gaze of a man who looked both equally amused and concerned. She vaguely wondered how his face managed to convey it so well. 

“Your horse almost flattened me.” Olivia spoke quickly, and the man frowned.

“I’ll never forgive myself.”

“Never?” Olivia arched a brow.

“Not for a very long time, at least.” As he spoke he dismounted the noble creature and Olivia could better see him. Not terribly taller than her, he was handsome to a fault. The sort of man who wooed ladies at lavish parties and broke their hearts. She knew his type – in her stints as a wallflower, she saw his type often enough preying on eligible, often rich young women who went all doe eyed the moment they met. Thankfully, Olivia was prepared for such tactics. She was not a school-girl with a crush. She was a grown woman faced with a grown man.

Who just happened to have rather lovely eyes.

She felt herself staring, though he was as well and for a moment, her mouth ran dry and she couldn’t seem to think. Charming. There were words on the tip of her tongue, most notably a few choice ones for the man who'd nearly run her down with his horse. She could find no way to express them aloud, however, and was left gaping like a fish in a bowl. Frustration mounting, Olivia pressed her lips into a thin line. 

“Olivia!” Duncan called. “Are you all right?”

The man looked up and Olivia’s head snapped up at her name; Duncan and Violet had witnessed the entire ordeal and were looking at her with concern from the front steps.

“She’s just fine!” The man replied before Olivia could think to open her mouth. Her brows knitted together sharply. She did not need someone to speak on her behalf. She was quite capable of doing such things on her own, as she had been for many years now – none of this she said aloud, of course, and watched in silence as the two children darted inside after their respective siblings.

“Olivia.” The man said, and her attention whirled again. “That must make you Olivia Caliban. A pleasure. You’re as every bit of lovely as the children said you were in their letter.”

Olivia’s face drained of colour quickly, before suddenly flushing deep scarlet. She felt shy all of a sudden, gaze glancing down to her feet and her hands clenched into the fabric of her dress.

“I – yes. That must make you Mr. Snicket.” She faltered. “I thought – they said you wouldn’t be home until tomorrow.”

“Work allowed me an early return.” He said and to her utter despair, he seemed desperately amused when she looked back at him. “I am sorry. For the horse. I promise he wouldn’t have flattened you. Holmes is quite gentle.”

“Holmes?”

“I admit Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s works might have influences me a bit when naming him.” Jacques gave a crooked grin and something deep in her belly swooped low at it.

“He looks like a Holmes.” She replied lamely. “I apologise for giving him a fright.”

“No apology needed.” Jacques offered out his arm. “I am glad to have finally met you. The children raved in the letter they sent the day before yesterday.”

Olivia took his arm hesitantly, but he was already off down the sidewalk and escorting her to the front steps with one hand. The other led Holmes by the reigns, which he handed off to the older gentleman who met them at the gate.

“I’m glad they seem to think me suitable. I’ve never quite done this before.”

“If they’re happy, I’m happy. You make them happy, so we’ve come full circle.” He mused, holding open the front door for her with the same crooked smile and curious eyes that Olivia seemed to nearly drown in. Never before had she felt such a feeling and so suddenly. Perhaps a fleeting moment here or there, but nothing substantial; she had long since accepted others did not find her pretty. She loved books, not parties, and her dresses were drab and full compared to the bright displays of some other women her age.

The exact opposite of what men like Jacques Snicket wanted, though the thought brought with it a sudden need to please him. To prove her worth. Prove that she needed this job and was very grateful for it, that she could certainly handle six children.

"You'll forgive me for not being here when they decided to hire you on. Or for the past few days. Work has been . . . it's taken up quite a lot of my time recently. I hope you won't hold it against me."

"Yes. No. I mean - of course not. I'm certain whatever it is you do is important and the children have said you've been kind to them, but I'm not certain I feel that it's right leaving them for so long. They're still just children and as their guardian you should be here. Guarding them." Word vomit. A habit she had never been able to unlearn, words spilling forth like a waterfall of information and opinions until she snapped a hand over her mouth in vague alarm. "I mean -- that is to say . . ."

Annoyingly enough, Jacques Snicket laughed. Her face turned a deeper crimson. 

"It's quite all right. I agree. I should be here more often. I've been making it a point to try and be. Work is simply complicated." He lingered on the last word, as if he was uncertain it was the appropriate description. Olivia couldn't fathom what on earth he seemed to do for all the time away. In her silence, he shed the coat of his suit and the housekeeper whisked it away before Olivia could blink. He began to unbotton his cufflinks, rolling the sleeves up to expose toned arms laced with a few scars here or there, and a particularly nasty looking burn she couldn't help but stare at near his elbow. 

He cleared his throat. Olivia's gaze snapped back to his face, embarrassed at having been caught. He seemed entirely unfazed by this. 

"I'm glad they have you here, to help them. To keep them company." He said, gently. "I wanted someone who had their interests at heart and already I can see that about you."

"Oh. I - thank you. They really are quite wonderful."

“We can talk more at dinner.” He added. She could already hear voices down the hall in the parlor, the sounds of a deep discussion. “I need to go over some files in my study, but I should be able to start working on it in another hour or two. I hope you didn't have too late of a lunch.”

“You?”

“Helps me destress after a particularly long few days.” He said and his expression wore something along the lines of a man with an inside joke and Olivia felt very left out. Handsome and he cooked? Probably why the cook only worked part time, then, if the man insisted on cooking for himself. “I’m sure you and the children have plenty to talk about; I’m sure they’ll fill me in over dinner as well.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

“If you’ll excuse me, Ms. Olivia Caliban.” He gave a short, almost mock bow before disappearing down the hall, before Olivia could even think to say something else. Hadn’t she been lamenting how very badly she wanted to shout at him for leaving the children so unattended? The anger that had earlier dissipated came back, sizzling beneath her skin and leaving her wanting to chase after him to give a piece of her mind. 

Raised voices in the parlor again stopped her. Right. She needed the job. Screaming at Jacques Snicket would likely make her lose it. For now, she would tolerate his strange behavior and odd work hours. Later, however, perhaps she would share her anger and share with him a piece of her mind about what being a guardian meant. A proper one, at the very least.

For now. As much as she adored the children, it took a village to raise one. Or so the saying went, she recalled. A guardian needed to do more than provide money, food, and shelter. The children needed company, compassion, and a caring influence. Or so Olivia had, when she'd been taken in by a guardian of her own. Loved. Most of all, the children needed someone to ensure they knew how very much they were loved, to never let them forget such. Perhaps yes, he did realize he needed to spend far more time at home, he at least hadn't seemed to be offended by her statement regarding that particular notion. 

At the very least, it warranted a strong lecture on the properness of guardianship.

Another raised voice, this one louder than the rest. Olivia realised she'd been standing in the entry hall staring at a vague painting of a country estate, and Jacques had long since disappeared down the hall to the library. 

Quietly the housekeeper cleared her throat, and Olivia nearly jumped out of her skin. The older woman offered out her hand for Olivia's traveling jacket.

Jacques Snicket was an interesting man. Though she couldn't dwell on why at that very moment. Instead, she hurried down the hall to the parlor to intervene in a near argument about the lesser principles of _Le Morte D’Arthur._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liked it? Hated it? Let me know!


	3. chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olivia shares more in common with the children than she thought.

Being a governess was not what Olivia had imagined in the slightest.

She had known a few, in her lifetime. She’d never had one for her own studies – her father had educated her for the most part at the behest of her mother. Of the ones she’d come across, they were socially excluded and nothing more than wallpaper for the host family who just happened to teach reading, writing, and other numerous skills to the children. Olivia had expected all of the above and more, which was why she had first thought herself probable for the position. She had no friends to call her own, no connections beyond her social class – a perfect candidate.

Working for Jacques Snicket and the combined Quagmire/Baudelaire clan had offered a different perspective.

She ate dinner with them every evening, and often retired to the parlor or library afterward to read to them, or to help with piano lessons ( a new lesson added just the previous week at Klaus’ behest ). It was strange, feeling so apart of a family without quite being part of it. At the very least, the children seemed to enjoy her company and she theirs, and the lot of them had formed a tight bond that other governesses would never known. Olivia pitied them, in truth, and relished each moment she had now with these children.

Their caretaker, she couldn’t speak for.

True to the descriptions of him, Jacques had flickered in and out at seemingly random hours. One day he would return energized and engaging, others he looked exhausted and went straight to his room. On the better days Olivia found she quite enjoyed his company – he was clever, kind, and not at all the sort she had imagined. He genuinely seemed to care for the children, and had never made her feel inferior for her position or gender. Jacques Snicket was quite all right in her books, if not a bit strange about the edges.

“Ms. Caliban?”

Olivia looked up suddenly from her journal, engrossed in it as she was. The maid, Fiona, stood in the doorway to her room.

“Yes?”

“There’s a visitor here for you. I told him to wait in the parlor.”

“A visitor?”

But Fiona had already disappeared down the hall. Olivia’s brow furrowed deeply as she shut the cover to her journal and stood from the table by the window; it was her favorite place to read or write when she had her own free time. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought there could be a visitor for her. Surely not. Olivia knew no one.

Curiosity, however, got the best of her and she descended the stairs quietly. Jacques was out, the children were scattered about working on projects of their own, and she didn’t want to disturb them. Clearly the visitor was mistaken. He would be looking for someone else, realize he’d have the wrong house.

Smoothing the invisible wrinkles from her drab skirts, Olivia rounded the corner into the parlor and felt her throat seize up immediately.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Caliban.”

The man was older, his hair greying about the edges. His teeth were crooked, and his face seemed permanently fashioned into a frown, emphasized only by the unibrow he demanded he sported.

“Count Olaf.” She breathed, flinching at how wispy her voice had suddenly become. His lecherous grin never faltered, and he dusted an invisible speck of dust from the shoulder of his rather dull looking suit.

“I know you wish to have all this put behind you, but there are a few more papers that need your signature for the transfer of the assets.” He drawled, and Olivia frowned.

‘Count’, as he liked to call himself, Olaf was the head of the team of solicitors who had taken away everything from her, including the bookstore. Her family fortune dragged from her because she had the misfortune of being born a female. He didn’t look at all sorry about the circumstances then and he certainly didn’t look it now. His expression made her stomach churn into a sickly spin.

“Oh.” Was all she managed, before he pulled open the briefcase at his side and slammed it rather rudely onto the coffee table.

“You’ve moved up in the world. Told you you’d find a suitable job for someone like you.” He continued on, unbothered as he shuffled the mismash of papers in the case. It was in utter disarray, and took him a moment to find a few folded sheets that he thrust at her. “Nothing important. Just babble. I’ve drawn a large ‘X’ down at the bottom where you need to sign.”

“What do these say?” Olivia frowned, flicking through the small stack. Immediately his hand jerked out, yellowed nails and dry skin covering as much of the top paper he could. Olivia stared at him, taken aback.

“Nothing you’d understand or need to worry your pretty little head about.” He chimed, loudly, almost forcefully. “Just _sign_.”

“She’s not signing _anything_ from you.” A voice from the doorway snapped. Olivia turned, surprised to see Violet standing there, glaring at the man across from her. “Get _out_.”

When Olivia looked back at Olaf, she could see the hidden snarl he was working to suppress.

“This business doesn’t concern lowly _orphans_.” He snapped out to Violet, who had come forward to Olivia’s side. She snatched the papers from Olivia before she could protest, thrusting them back at Olaf.

“I said _get out_. You have no business here, with Olivia, with anyone else. Get out!”

The ferocity in Violet’s voice caught Olivia off guard. She’d never heard Violet raise her voice in such a manner, much less at someone else. Olaf took a step forward and instinctively Olivia put herself between the man and the girl.

“I think you should leave.” Olivia added. “If you have anything more to discuss I suggest you post it to me rather than step foot here again. Perhaps _then_ I will sign whatever nonsense you’ve come up with now. I’m sure you can find your way to the door.”

He growled between clenched teeth, but shoved the papers back into the briefcase and snapped it shut, loudly. He breezed past Olivia and Violet to the door, and Olivia followed to make certain he had found his way out. He slammed the door and Violet hurried forward to lock it shut. Her face had gone pale in a way Olivia hadn’t seen before, either. Worry began to show on her face.

“Violet – what on earth. How do you know that man? He’s just a solicitor, surely you haven’t had to deal with anyone like him.”

Violet didn’t speak, brows knitted together as her fingers worried a frayed edge of her dress sleeve. Clearly there was something she wasn’t telling, and while Olivia knew it wasn’t her business to press, she worried for both their sanities if she didn’t find _some_ answer as to why the eldest Baudelaire had reacted in such a way.

“I – may we discuss it over tea?” Violet asked weakly, and Olivia immediately obeyed. Wrapping an arm around Violet’s shoulders, she steered them to the kitchen. One look at the face the girl wore had the cook setting on a kettle, pouring two mugs of tea, and quickly vacating the room. Olivia handed Violet a steaming mug of raspberry tea, watching as Violet gratefully accepted it and curled her fingers around the warmth it offered, despite the warmth of the room. She was shivering, Olivia noticed for the first time, and knew now more than ever that something was very not right.

“How do you know him?” Violet asked, brows furrowed again. Olivia faltered.

“Well – I – he’s sort of the reason I answered your ad, in a way.” She admitted quietly. “I have – _had –_ a bookstore. Money. A place of my own. My father left it to me in his will. Olaf and a few of his other solicitor friends deemed it impossible for me to inherit any of it because I was a daughter, not a son. They took everything.” She looked down into her tea.

“Olivia, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ll find a way to get it back.” She said with a forced cheer, reaching out to take Violet’s hand. “I suspect he’s done something awful to you and if you don’t want to share, Violet, you don’t have to. I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want.”

“No, no – you deserve to know. I’m surprised you don’t. It was in the papers.”

“I don’t read those nearly as often as everyone else.”

Violet’s shoulder’s sagged, and she leaned forward against the table. Olivia mirrored her.

“Olaf – he’s the reason we’re here. We’re all here. He’s been trying to take our fortune and the Quagmire fortune since the night our parents were killed.” She hesitated. “I’m . . . not certain he’s innocent in their deaths.”

Olivia inhaled sharply, but pressed her lips into a thin line to keep herself from speaking out in shock. Violet glanced at her expression, then pressed on.

“After the fire destroyed our home, killed our parents, he swept out of nowhere. Claimed he had legal guardianship over us. We had no choice but to go with him until our parents’ wills were found. He’s a horrible man. We know he’s after our fortunate. We can’t touch it until Klaus is of age – Jacques has been fighting it on our behalf so I might inherit it, but it’s a losing battle. He’s done the same with the Quagmires. He’s corrupt, terrible, and I’m not convinced he doesn’t have the blood of our parents on his hands. If not others. Jacques forbade him from coming near us – he’s going to be _furious_ when he finds out.”

“Violet, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” Olivia said quietly. “Jacques and I will never let him near you again, I swear it. And he won’t touch your money. I’m sure Jacques has done a well enough job as he can, but now you have me in your corner as well. I’m glad you told me.”

“We all assumed you knew.”

“Not at all. But now I do, and I will do everything I can to keep you safe. All of you. Consider it part of my duty as your governess.”

Violet smiled, softly, and Olivia’s heart ached for the girl. She squeezed her hands gently, a comforting motion that Violet returned.

“We are very glad to have you, Olivia.” Violet murmured. “I’m sorry he’s been so cruel to you.”

“Not as sorry as he will be if he comes near any of us again. We’ll prove he’s behind this nonsense, the fires, the fortune stealing – there must be some way.”

Violet nodded once, lips pressed into a thin line of determination.

“Go and rest.” Olivia added, softer. “I’ll come get you for dinner.”

Not needed to be told twice, the girl stood quietly and placed her now empty cup of tea into the sink. She offered one last ghost of a smile toward Olivia before departing, leaving the librarian turned governess alone to mull this new information over.

Olaf, a murderer? She knew from the start he’d been a horrible man, but had he really orphaned six children in favor of their money? Much less think he could get away with it? As she recalled, however, he was friends with several higher ups across the city that likely helped cover any tracks – but there must have been _something_ if any of it was true. Olivia would be determined to find out, with or without Jacques’ help – though she knew already he was likely already on the case, and Olivia was ever more determined to lend a hand if it meant easing the suffering of the children she had taken under her wing.

Standing abruptly, she left her tea on the table and headed down the hall to the library. It was empty, quiet. Perfect. She inhaled the scent of old books for a moment before she turned to a shelf in the back. She was certain she’d seen a glimpse of them somewhere and hadn’t paid any attention. Now, however, she could understand the importance of keeping them. She spotted the telltale black and white print stacked neatly into sections at the bottom of one shelf. Kneeling down, she pulled out a heap at random and glanced at the dates, estimating in her mind.

_BAUDELAIRES PERISHED IN FIRE. CHILDREN NOW ORPHANS._

_BAUDELAIRE FIRE RULED ACCIDENTAL._

_SNICKET FAMILY TO TAKE IN ORPHANS FROM FIRE._

_FIRE DESTROYS QUAGMIRE ESTATE. TWINS NOW HOMELESS._

Someone had angrily crossed out the word ‘twins’ and written triplets in the margin. Likely Quigley, Olivia mused, judging by the handwriting. The newspapers from the fires she set aside, separating them from other nonsense copies that didn’t seem nearly as important. She adjusted to sit on the library floor, well aware it wasn’t befitting of a lady at all, and rolling her eyes at the mere thought of it being found out. Back against the shelf, she was well out of view from anyone who might be walking by. She opened the first newspaper, and began to read.

Had the fires truly been accidents? Had innocent people died because one man had been greedy enough to rob children of their parents? The thought made Olivia’s blood boil. The newspapers in general were poorly written, the articles complete hogwash. And unhelpful.

Footsteps came and went down the hall outside of the library, but none came in.

Not until she was a quarter through the third article, and the door suddenly opened before she had the chance to hide or do anything other than freeze in her hiding spot.

“Who the hell does he think he is?!”

Jacques. His voice was sharper than she’d ever heard, bouncing off the bookshelves. His footsteps echoed across the worn floors and she heard him half collapse into a chair near the desk at the other end of the room. Another set of footsteps, female judging by the noise of the clipped heels.

“He’s trying to get a rise out of you.” A female voice joined his and Olivia’s gut twisted strangely.

“Well he certainly has it. Coming after Olivia and the children – he never should have been allowed in. I’ll be having a talk to Fiona.”

“It wasn’t her fault – the man wears rubbish disguises all the time and she can’t be tasked with memorizing them all. Cut her some slack. We’ll find enough dirt on him soon, Jacques. It just takes time.”

“Meanwhile those kids upstairs have to look over their shoulder in fear he’s going to show up and ruin their lives. Again. He’s a murderer, Kit.”

Olivia’s breathing hitched in her throat. Not only at the accusation, but the name. She was certain she’d heard that name before.

“He will suffer. I promise. But clearly we’ve been going about it the wrong way. We need a new strategy.”

“When I come up with one, you’ll be the first to know.”

“You can’t come up with all the plans. Leave some for the rest of us. He and Esme will go down. And it will be brilliant. But we can’t risk exposing them before we have the evidence. Before we’re certain the sugar bowl is safe.”

Olivia’s brows furrowed. Esme? Who was that? And what on earth did a sugar bowl have to do with anything?

“Have you heard from any of the others?”

There was a weariness to Jacques’ voice now, tired and exhaustion creeping into his tone.

“Not yet. I’ll let you know as soon as I do. I need to head back.”

“Of course you do. Just – promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Always. Love you.”

“And I, unfortunately, you.”

The woman, Kit, gave a soft laugh before her footsteps disappeared out of the room. Olivia felt the twisting in her gut come back tenfold, uncomfortable and gnawing until she was certain something would claw it’s way out of her belly. Still, she didn’t dare move, aware that Jacques was still in the room. Giving herself away now would reveal she’d been listening, and Olivia had the childish notion that she didn’t want Jacques Snicket to be angry with her. Anger wouldn’t look good on those features of his.

Her face flushed at that particular thought, and she swore silently to herself to get a grip. Biting hard on her lip, she felt relief when she heard Jacques stand, and his footsteps follow through to the door and eventually, down the hall. Olivia counted to five before she even thought to move, slowly prying herself up from her spot. Peering over the shelves, the room was as it was, with no indication anyone had ever entered or left.

Still, she couldn’t explain the twisting feeling in the pit of her stomach about the woman who had so brazenly spoken to Jacques. And told him she loved him. That he had returned the sentiment.

Was she jealous?

Olivia felt her face go red again at that particular notion.

She had no right to be jealous! She was his employee, nothing more. Just because she felt a school-girl crush for his dashing good looks and kind nature and clever mind didn’t make anything right with her being jealous. She was not jealous. No. Jacques Snicket had a girlfriend. Of course he did. He was too handsome not to have a lady of his own. But why hadn’t be mentioned her? Surely he would have by now, or invited her over, or –

“My sister.”

Olivia jumped nearly a foot into the air, the stack of newspapers in her hands scattering immediately across the worn wooden floors. She turned dark crimson at the sight of Jacques in the doorway, socked feet so she hadn’t heard his footsteps approach in her mental lamentation. She wanted to sink into the floor then and there. Or slap the smirk off his face. He looked amused at her situation for pity’s sake.

“Kit. She’s my sister. My twin sister, actually.” He pushed away from the doorway.

“How did you – I mean, what – how--?” Olivia wheezed, trying to cool her face down between words and breaths and – oh, the way his eyes looked when he was amused made her melt all the more. Perhaps she’d melt into a puddle and leak away through the floorboards and away from this entire confrontation.

“You’re good at hiding, I give you that. Your breathing gave you away.”

“You heard that?”

“I hear everything.” He mused. “Were you eavesdropping?”

“No. Yes. No – I mean, not intentionally.” Olivia backpedaled. “I was just looking over some old newspapers and by the time you came in with Kit or whomever I didn’t want to interrupt . . . “ She trailed off lamely, glancing at what was left of the papers in her hands. “Violet – she told me. Olaf came here and tried to make me sign some things. Violet saved me, actually.”

“You know Olaf?” His face twisted. “I’m terribly sorry for that misfortune.”

“As am I. He’s – well, he’s why I’m here.” Olivia said quietly, before relaying the same information she had told Violet before. Jacques’ brows furrowed together neatly, and Olivia shifted her weight back and forth uneasily.

“He won’t get to you. Not here. You’re safe.” He said, suddenly. Olivia blinked.

“Oh. Thank you. But it’s not me I’m worried about. It’s the children.”

He wore a mixed expression, and Olivia let the silence gape between them.

“You’re very noble, Olivia Caliban. To consider the children before yourself.”

“It’s what anyone would do, I think.” She shrugged.

“No, not anyone. Only very special people.” Jacques murmured, meeting her gaze evenly with an expression this time she couldn’t decipher. One that was intriguing at the very least, and rather alluring. Then it broke into a knowing grin, and Olivia felt the feeling of wanting to leak through the floor return.

“Your face gives you away far too well, you know.” He remarked, stepping closer. “You were red as a beet when you stood up. Were you chiding yourself?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She managed evenly, surprised at herself. He chuckled.

“Of course, Ms. Caliban. Forgive me.” A pause. “I want to show you something. Tonight. After dinner.”

Olivia balked.

“I – okay?”

“I think you’ll find it useful, if anything. After the children retire, meet me here.” Another pause. “Nothing to harm your reputation, I promise.”

“I didn’t – I wasn’t – I would hardly assume --.”

He laughed this time, bright and annoying and Olivia put a hand to her temple at her own stammering.

“I feel as if you get far too much humor in unsettling me.” She muttered.

“I assure you it’s not my intention. You’re a very intriguing woman, Olivia. Consider me enraptured by your company, is all.”

“I – oh.”

“Tonight.” He reminded, gently, and Olivia met his gaze with a soft nod. Silence reigned as the pair stared at one another. Jacques opened his mouth as if to say something, but snapped it shut a moment later as he thought better of it, apparently. Olivia’s lips quirked at the corners. Time stretched on. She was certain those eyes of his would bore through to her very soul, or at the very least read her mind and reveal all the silly school-girl notions she had of him.

“Tonight.” She echoed briefly, and as he took a step back the spell between them broke. He nodded once, then turned and set off down the hall, leaving a very confused if not somewhat excited Olivia in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully you enjoyed the introduction of our villain! He'll be back, rest assured. Stealing fortunes even in victorian times, what a tool. As always, leave your comments, reviews, questions, suggestions, etc below because I love reading them!


	4. chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets revealed.

Olivia worried.

It seemed stranger her employer wanted to meet so late, away from the children and away from any one else quite frankly. One would think it almost improper – most would, actually, she realized the more she dwelled upon it. She had never once cared about her reputation (as if she even had one among society, really) but she was also curious – and by the time the children had gone to bed and the Snicket house was quiet, it was curiosity that won out over worry.

She crept downstairs as quietly as possible, in a dark simple dress. The sconces were lit, casting the library in an intimate glow. It was quiet, and as Olivia stepped inside she realized she was not alone. Jacques was at the window, his frame silhouetted against the window from which shone the moonlight outside. It was all very much like a moment in one of her books, the handsome hero brooding well into the night over a problem. Or a woman.

Olivia couldn’t imagine what Jacques’ thought of, his face an impassive mask as sheadmired him and his shadowed form. Olivia blushed when she realized he’d caught her staring, only to be met with his usual kind, if not amused smile.

“I’m glad you joined me.”

“Of course. I assume it must do with the children and I want to help.” Olivia said, perhaps far too quickly. Her hands worried a frayed sleeve of her dress, some of her earlier worry creeping back in as Jacques stepped toward her – but he still wore that same smile that made her stomach do a bit of a wobble. When had that started? She hoped he couldn’t notice – if he did, he gave no indication.

“Let me show you something.” He said, quieter, and Olivia only nodded slowly.

She followed as he strode to a seemingly random shelf along the far wall. He skimmed the books before plucking one entitled ‘Very Fragrant Drapes’ (a biography on a fabric curtain company or something similar, judging from the cover). He tilted it toward him and Olivia gaped as the shelf gave way in a door-sized section, swinging open to reveal a room on the other side.

She was more surprised she hadn’t noticed such a gaping space in the hall and room next door, and fought the urge to inspect the outside of the library to see just how a whole room had been hidden. Later, she reminded herself. Clearly what was more important lay inside the room. Jacques gestured for her to step through first, and she was hardly going to refuse.

Like the library, the room was lit by the sconces on the wall. There were a few shelves along the wall behind a table with several chairs. Another gathering of softer chairs took up one corner. The wall to her right was lined with several strange and mysterious gadgets she didn’t recognize at all. A desk similar to the one in the library took up the left side of the room, and the surface of it was littered with a few other gadget and old newspapers and files.

“What is all this?” Olivia asked, turning to study the man who had suddenly become even more of a mystery in the past few moments. Now she was certain she’d somehow entered a fantasy novel. Secret rooms? The practical part of her realized that if Jacques were anyone else, it would be a danger for her to be in such a place. One could seal and lock the door or do terrible things without the rest of the house aware. Jacques would never – of that Olivia was certain.

She felt safe with him. As much as the children clearly did. It was logical the room could be used for protection as well – if someone meant to do harm to them, it would be easy to sneak into the room and seal themselves in without the evil-doer so much as aware.

“A secret place for a secret organization.” He replied, looking at her as if to gauge her reaction. Olivia’s brows furrowed. “It’s my work.” He continued, crossing to the desk after another moment of studying her. “For a long time I’ve been apart of an organization of noble volunteers who seek to put out fires of the world. To do good things in a world governed by corruption and greed. It’s operated for many years with many volunteers. My siblings, for instance. The Baudelaires. The Quagmires.”

“That’s why you took them in – do they know?”

“No. They know nothing and it’s safer that way. Their parents never told them, and I think it best to keep it that way. At least until all of our enemies have been defeated.

“Olaf.” Olivia scowled faintly, hands fisting at her sides at the mere thought of that man.

“He used to be one of us.” Jacques admitted, quieter. Her eyes widened. “Many did. But there were disagreements. Greed was a factor. He left, wedging a gap between the organization into fire starters and fire fighters.”

“So he’s definitely behind the fires that killed the Baudelaire and Quagmire parents. What a horrible man.”

“In his twisted mind it’s his revenge for a plot that happened some years ago, and he’s taking it out on the children. It’s a long story, but he considered Beatrice and Bertrand Baudelaire responsible for the death of his own parents and the removal of his fortune. The Quagmires were caught in the crossfire because they were trying to protect the Baudelaires.”

“Surely we must go to the police.”

Jacques shook his head.

“The organization operates outside of typical law enforcement. They’re incompetent at best, and both sides of the schism have men in the department. It would be useless.”

Olivia hesitated, frowning.

“Then we must take Olaf down ourselves. He cannot be allowed to get away with such crimes.”

To her surprise, Jacques smiled. Her stomach swooped again, and she swallowed thickly in an attempt to keep the butterflies at bay. Never had she felt such sensations, and it almost worried her that Jacques Snicket had brought them out in her.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He opened a desk drawer and produced a spyglass with a series of letters, numbers, and symbols on it, none of which she recognized. He held it out and she took it, studying it with a keen curiosity. Twisting the lenses changed the symbols, but not into anything else that made sense.

“I trust you.” He said suddenly and her attention flashed back up. He reached up to loosen his cravat almost nervously. “After today and your willingness to help these children – I trust you, Olivia Caliban.”

Her face flushed scarlet.

“O-oh. Thank you.”

She moved quickly to hand the mysterious spyglass back, but he shook his head.

“Keep it. It’s yours. Every volunteer has one.”

“I – you want me to join a secret organization I’ve only just learned of to take down the most vile man I’ve ever met?”

“We do other things, but that was the general idea if you’re agreeable.”

Olivia looked down at the spyglass in her hands, turning the device over in her hands.

“This is a lot.” She admitted quietly. “All of this. It’s extraordinary. Like the plot of a novel. And I think,” she paused, meeting his gaze again. “I think I would be very remiss if I did not agree. Where do I sign?”

His face lit up like a child at Christmas, and suddenly Olivia was very glad to have made such a decision if it earned her that smile. She committed it to memory and held it close, searing it into her mind’s eye. Her favorite expression of his – that smile there. It erased the age his face gave, made him look ten years younger. She couldn’t fathom the stress such an organization could put on him, much less trying to raise six children on his own.

Now he had her, of course.

“Welcome to VFD.” He grinned.

“VFD? Does that stand for something?”

“Volunteer Fire Department, I think it what it stands at currently. It’s changed every few decades or so, honestly.” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I know this must be insane. Crazy, even. But you’re the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met and you’ll be a brilliant asset and partner.”

“Partner?” Her voice inched an octave higher.

“It’s typical for new volunteers to be partnered with a senior member. I won’t just throw you into the deep end of the lake, that would be cruel and could put you in danger. There’s codes and devices and all sorts of things to learn, and it will take time to train you.”

“I’ll learn as we go. Setting aside time to learn could be costly when it comes to Olaf. In my experience he’s a fast worker.” Her fingers tightened on the spyglass. “When do I start?”

“In a few days.” He said, and she frowned. “I’m sorry.’ He added, seeing her expression. “I’m already a terrible partner. But it’s only because I’ve got business to attend to.”

“Anything I can do to help, then?”

“Perhaps. Let me find the message Kit brought yesterday. I don’t remember all of it, but there’s something you might be interested in. . . .”

She nodded, and while he dug about the papers on his desk Olivia used the opportunity to examine the books on the shelves nearby. These were older than the ones in the library, by decades. Spines were weathered and faded, their titles difficult to read. Again, she found herself surprised by the myriad of topics presented: _101 Poisons and Their Antidotes_ , _Hold Your Breath Underwater For Ten Minutes and Other Useful Skills_ , _The Complete History of Secret Organizations_ , and one called _Disguises for Dummies._

Strange.

As she reached out to touch one and pull it out for further inspection, Jacques cleared his throat. She turned quickly, caught, and he was already crossing the room to her with something akin to mischief in his gaze.

“I need a date.”

Olivia was certain she would die.

“I beg your pardon?”

He flushed a shade darker and she admonished him – Jacques Snicket, embarrassed?

“I mean – I didn’t – that wasn’t meant to -.” He tried several times, and sighed heavily at his own stuttering. “What I meant to say is that there is a party coming up this weekend. Originally I had no intentions of attending and despite my arguments, somehow Violet and Isadora found out about it. They’re hopelessly eager to attend and I don’t want to deny them because they haven’t been out since . . . I’m still trying to convince the boys to go. I thought perhaps if I went, and you agreed to come as well, we could, ah, chaperone them?” He finished, rather lamely, and Olivia pressed her lips together in a thin line to keep from smiling.

“So you want me to attend a party with you?”

“Yes.” A pause. “And also Violet and Isadora. I’d be inclined to let them attend, should I have more than just my eyes able to watch them. The last thing I want is for Olaf to make his way in.”

“I don’t think you want me to go with you.” Olivia said quietly, looking down at the floor between them suddenly. “I – I’ve never been very good at parties, you see. Just a wallflower. I can dance, but I haven’t in ages and I haven’t got any dresses that would suit. I’m sure you could find a far more suited partner.”

She could practically hear Jacques frowning at her.

“Are you so easily forgetful?”

Her brows knitted together and she looked up at him.

“What?”

“You’re _my_ partner. If you don’t want to go, very well, but perhaps it could be a learning exercise in crowd watching, at the very least. Besides, you’ve been working with the children so well and haven’t had time for a break. I know it might not be much of one, but . . .” He trailed off, tilting his head.

Olivia knew without saying that she wanted to go. And with Violet and Isadora eager, she would hate to be the reason they were incapable of going. She shifted her weight back and forth. But she was still without a dress, and surely Jacques Snicket showing up to a social event with his governess would ruin whatever reputation he had among his fellow socialites.

“I . . . alright. I suppose one evening won’t hurt. And if the girls want to go, I don’t want to stop them. They deserve happiness and if Olaf shows up, we’ll be there to protect them.

Jacques grinned like a madman, clearly pleased. He shifted suddenly, and leaned forward to press a kiss to Olivia’s cheek.

“Thank you, Olivia. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. I surely will in your company, and knowing my partner is there to help me defeat what enemies come our way.”

Olivia was too shocked to do anything but nod, a silly grin on her face. He turned to go back to the desk and she raised a hand to her cheek to touch the spot where he’d kissed her, where her skin suddenly felt white hot. She curled her fingers against her cheek, as if to relive the split second, and it took her several long moments more to even find the function to move.

Jacques Snicket had kissed her.

On the cheek, yes, but it counted. She counted it. Her stomach was doing more and more of it’s nervous flips, making her head spin. She silently willed herself to get it together; she would be no use to him as a partner if she found herself so floored by him at every moment. Then again, how was she not to be? The night still felt like a dream, and the kiss to her cheek had only added to it.

She lingered, briefly, long enough for Jacques to finish whatever he was doing before they left the secret room together. The bookcase sealed behind them and Olivia managed to politely excuse herself up to her room. The moment she stepped inside she turned and shut the door, leaning against it. Her heart felt like it might beat out of her chest, slamming against her ribs so fast she thought they might shatter.

He had kissed her.

And now she was to attend a party. On his arm. Going from a wallflower to such a position felt like a shock, and surely the night was all a dream. Yes. Perhaps. Olivia tried to convince herself of such as she changed into her nightgown and crawled into bed.

A dream. Nothing more.

Yet in the morning as she stretched and her hand touched cool metal beneath her pillow, Olivia felt a new wave of emotion. Her fingers curled around the amber spyglass tucked beneath her pillow and pulled it free of it’s hiding place.

More than a dream, then.

A beginning. To what, she had not yet decided. But a beginning none the less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Olivia, all in a kerfuffle. Will their night out go perfect, or terribly and unfortunately wrong? Stay tuned and as always, let me know your thoughts below!


	5. chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dance, some drama, and just a dash of dreamy.

“Oh, Olivia – please stop moving.”

Olivia sighed to herself, resigned that Isadora might very well be ripping her scalp apart. The girl was trying to be delicate in order to situate Olivia’s unruly, plainly straight hair into something befitting of the evening. Violet watched with a critical eye, and all the while Olivia was starting to regret her agreement to this whole arrangement.

It was more difficult than she thought to keep the secret of the organization now entrusted to her. Especially with the children. There was part of her that seemed determined they should know, but Jacques had said it was to protect them, keeping them in the dark. Olivia only half agreed, but it wasn’t her position to oust the whole thing. Not yet, at any rate. Only to protect the children she had been carefully selected by.

It seemed strange now, a whole other world away, applying to be a governess. Now she had been recruited into a secret, very strange organization and would be attending a gathering that evening with her partner and employer. It was strictly business, she had to keep reminding herself. Jacques had it on good authority several fire starters would be in attendance, and with Violet and Isadora so eager and determined to go they’d had no choice but to go along to protect them. And perhaps dig up a few clues into how to ruin Olaf from the inside out (though, personality speaking Olivia was quite certain he had managed that himself a very long time ago).

“I’m nearly done.” Isadora announced and Olivia glanced at Violet across from her; the pair had not allowed her to look into a mirror throughout their kind torture to her hair. Violet was smiling, which seemed to be a good sign as Olivia tried not to flinch at the sharp final pull somewhere near the crown of her head. The other two were already dressed in their finery with faces aglow – Olivia wondered how long it had been since they’d had an evening out to enjoy themselves and not worry who might be lurking over their shoulder. The librarian turned governess was determined to ensure their night an enjoyable success.

“If you lot don’t hurry, you’re going to be late.” Quigley chimed from the doorway, arms folded across his chest. He had agreed to attend as well, while Klaus, Sunny, and Duncan remained behind with Larry, the older gentleman Olivia had first noticed as part of the staff (and whom Jacques had quietly informed her was a member of the organization as well, so the children were quite safe at home).

“Yes, yes, we know.” Isadora huffed, waving a hand at her brother in vague annoyance. Olivia glanced to Violet in time to catch her softly blushing when she noticed Quigley staring at her; her fingers buried uncertainly into her purple gown, hiding a smile as she ducked her head. Olivia knew why Quigley had agreed to attend, and that reason was one Ms. Violet Baudelaire.

“Olivia still has to change and then we’ll be down.” Isadora added, and Olivia’s attention jerked away from the other pair to the female triplet.

“I thought the dress I have on was more than adequate.” And plain, but it was the nicest one she owned. Isadora scoffed.

“It is, of course. But not for _tonight_.” She insisted with a flourish. “We have something else for you. Violet?”

Violet scurried past Quigley and disappeared down the hall, reappearing only moments later with a bundle of emerald green fabric that looked far too fine.

“As kind as the thought is, I don’t think your dress will fit me, Violet.” Olivia said gently, and Violet paused, glancing between Isadora and Quigley almost hesitantly.

“It isn’t mine,” She began quietly, looking uncertain of how to continue.

“We found it. In the attic.” Isadora supplied. “There wasn’t time enough to order you a dress, so we made do with one of the ones in the attic.”

“Jacques has women’s clothing in the attic?” Her eyebrows shot up.

“Not – it isn’t in a queer way or anything.” Quigley said quickly, frowning. “We all go to the attic sometimes and there’s loads of things up there. Storage and the like. A trunk of clothing – it wasn’t marked, but had several outfits. Both men and women. I think relatives, perhaps.”

“Or our parents.” Violet added, quieter. “I understand my mother spent a lot of time here growing up with Jacques and his siblings.”

Olivia paused, taken aback.

“I couldn’t dream of wearing your mother’s dress, Violet.”

“I don’t know for sure it’s hers. There are a lot of dresses up there. But Isadora and I liked this colour for you.” Violet held out the fabric, all satin and silk and lace. “We altered it a bit because we weren’t sure your exact measurements. Please. It’ll look lovely on you.”

It was Olivia’s turn to blush, faintly. She made a mental note to ask Jacques about the clothing in his attic (especially half of it belonging to a woman). But she was in no place to deny the earnest looking Violet. She reached out and took the bundle of dress into her arms, surprised at it’s light weight and soft feel against her skin. It seemed far too delicate a thing for someone like her. Far too expensive, even.

“I’ll help you.” Isadora volunteered quickly, and all but tugged Olivia by the elbow behind the changing screen.

Silk slid across her skin, over the boning of her corset and Olivia was quiet as Isadora deftly did up the laces along the back. Oh, yes, the dress was finer than anything she had ever owned; she’d only seen such a gown on others at the parties she had been to before, where she had stuck steadfast to the wall. Out of sight and out of mind until she could deem it acceptable to escape home to read or journal or do anything else other than be in a room filled with people.

The prospect of facing the same thing that night made her stomach sink, but the thought of facing it with Jacques made her heart leap into her throat. She felt all out of sorts in a way she hadn’t felt before, and knew the problem lie with Jacques Snicket. If it were anyone else she never would have agreed.

Isadora released her, then spun her around to face the floor length mirror.

Olivia didn’t recognize herself, not at first. Her eyes burned with the effort of trying to find some piece of herself, nestled within the aura of a fine lady that Isadora and Violet had so carefully painted on her. It felt like armor, as if she were preparing for war – in her mind she was, a war with other socialites and with Olaf and a whole entire group of strangers she didn’t know. The uneasiness returned, and while she felt some confidence in herself and her altered appearance, there was a small part of her that still worried she was far too out of her element with it. With any of it. That Jacques Snicket should have picked a far better partner, because Olivia Caliban didn’t know the first thing about the strange world he had dragged her into.

But the other half of her, the more selfish part, was eager to learn and to protect these children, that man, with everything she had in her. A new purpose, a new focus other than the ruined life she had been forced to abandon before.

Still in half a daze, Olivia followed the three out of the door and downstairs to the entryway. They were all chatting excitedly amongst themselves about something she couldn’t quite hear; Olivia was too focused on trying not to trip on the length of the dress and make an absolute farce of herself by tripping down the stairs. She made it with careful steps, until her foot hit the last step and she wobbled, pitching forward.

Strong arms caught her, and righted her once more. She blinked up at Jacques, not at all surprised to see him. But certainly surprised at the way he stared at her with such intensity that she felt she might spontaneously combust. His gaze studied her, memorized her it felt, and it was a long moment before she even realized his hands were still at her shoulders as if to steady her. He was cleaned up handsomely himself, suit sharp and clean and a cravat the exact shade of emerald as her dress.

If she didn’t know any better, she’d say the children were scheming on them.

Jacques seemed to realise he was still holding onto her; he jerked back quite quickly and cleared his throat.

“You – you look lovely.” He managed in a polite, quiet tone. Olivia ducked her head in acknowledgement.

“Blame Violet and Isadora.”

“Blame them? I should be thanking them. You looked lovely before and now,” he seemed to struggle to find the right words. “It suits you.”

He smiled the disarming, charming smile that Olivia now associated with him, the one that made her stomach do it’s flip-flop several times over. The smile she pictured in her mind’s eye whenever she thought of him (which, she was nearly embarrassed to admit, was quite a lot recently).

“Shall we?”

He offered his arm, and she looped hers through his gently. His presence by her side was steady and warm, and Olivia tried to focus on the children’s chattering as they stepped into the cool night air. Normally they would have walked, but the event was across the city; Larry had brought around the carriage that now waited for them at the end of the sidewalk. It was open to the air, drawn by a horse that she immediately recognized as Holmes. Her lips twisted faintly at the memory of their last meeting, as Violet, Quigley, and Isadora climbed into the back. Jacques kept his grip on her hand to assist her into the transport as well, before he climbed in himself. Gustav – the other gentleman Olivia had come to know as part of the organization and another of the Snicket staff – snapped the reigns once and they were off, rolling down the cobblestone street.

Violet and Isadora sat side by side on the seat across from her, chatting happily about the party. Quigley was on Violet’s other side, half listening and half not. Jacques’ mind seemed miles away as well when she chanced a glance at him on her left side, so Olivia kept quiet and instead occupied herself in watching the scenery pass by. The street lamps were just being lit, their flames flickering in an even path along the side of the street. The city was awakening for the evening, a different group of citizens emerging onto dim sidewalks and steps. There were others in their finery as well, returning from an evening out or perhaps even going toward the very same social gathering they themselves were going.

Glancing back at her company for the evening, she was surprised to immediately meet Jacques’ gaze; he had been staring at her, and the moment she caught him he cleared his throat and turned to look at the children instead. Olivia felt her insides flutter with a fraction of hope – had she really drawn his attention so? The look had been fleeting at best, but Olivia was certain she’d never made another human being look at her as he did before. It was never her interest until now.

Did Jacques feel the same flutter in his insides as she did?

The logical part of her reasoned that no, it couldn’t possibly. Surely Jacques had his choice of lovely ladies.

_But he’s going to a party with you,_ reminded the voice in her head, which she was quick to remind that they were partners now. Partners attended social functions together in fashions other than courting.

Didn’t they?

For the third time she smoothed gloved fingers across the black lace that detailed her dress, for lack of anything to do with her hands. Jacques reached out suddenly and caught her fidgeting fingers with his own, giving them a reassuring squeeze and Olivia smiled softly in thanks.

A comfort, knowing they could be facing danger that evening? Or something more? Her head felt far too puzzled to try and find sense of it, and thought it best to put her attention elsewhere.

They passed through parts of town she vaguely recognized, and with a sudden weight in her stomach she caught a glimpse of the – _her_ – bookstore just on the corner one street over. It was pitch black inside, and she ached to think of the neglected books inside. If there was anything left, and the solicitors (namely, Olaf) hadn’t destroyed them. Or worse. Her stomach twisted in on itself.

“Are you all right?” Jacques spoke lowly to her, brows knitted together. “We can turn around if you’re not feeling up to it.”

She squeezed his hand gently in return, assuring, comforting.

“I’m quite fine. Just lost in thought.” She murmured. “Promise.”

“You’ll tell me the moment you feel uncomfortable. We’ll leave.” He added, and she felt touched at his kindness.

“Violet and Isadora wanted an evening out. And I daresay their guardian deserves a night off. I intend to ensure it.” While it wouldn’t be _quite_ the evening off, Olivia couldn’t imagine anything terrible going wrong at a simple party.

She hoped she wouldn’t eat her words by the end of the evening.

The street they turned onto was filled with larger houses than she’d expected, entire estates and manors with their own sections of properties. The focus was on one in particular at the corner, grander than the rest. People milled along outside, but most seemed to be joining a steady stream entering the doors that spilled golden light out onto the drive. Music fluttered out the open doorway, barely audible above the din of the guests. The carriage pulled to a stop at the curb, and before Olivia could move Jacques was already out and offering hands out to both Violet and Isadora, Quigley jumping down just behind. He extended his hand to her at the last, and Olivia grasped it firmly until her own two feet touched solid ground again.

“There seems to be the entire city here.” She murmured in observance, realizing only a moment later she couldn’t recognize anyone in the fray: they were all wearing masks. “Jacques –“

“Yes?”

He was already holding out a delicate black lace mask to her, with dainty ribbon to secure it to her face. He had a second in his other hand, his own. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the children donning their own.

“May I?” He offered, and gestured for her to turn. Olivia obeyed and felt her breath hitch as the mask came over her face, disguising her features. It took her a moment to adjust to the feel of it against her face, and by then Jacques was already carefully tying it at the back of her head.

“We won’t be able to spot anyone in this crowd.” She frowned at him.

“For tonight, my focus is on the children. We play defensively. I’m not eager to start something with a masked fiend.” He replied, offering his arm again. She took it without thinking, pressed against his side as she took in the guests around them. Violet, Isadora, and Quigley were walking side by side only a foot in front of them.

“And if Olaf is here?” She prodded.

“He’s not nearly so blindsided to attempt something in front of all these people. We simply won’t let the children out of our sight.”

“Do you have an answer for everything, then?”

Jacques laughed.

“If only, Olivia Caliban. If only.”

There were more guests inside, chatting and drinking and socializing. Jacques smiled briefly at a few faces she couldn’t or didn’t recognize behind the masks, even as they seemed intent on studying her like some sort of specimen. So much for not attracting attention – she wasn’t blind to how handsome and well sought out the Snicket men had been. Now there was only one, and his mask did little to hide most of his features. She could only imagine the death glares against her back by ladies hoping to be on his arm.

It thrilled her, just a bit, that it was her instead. Quiet Olivia Caliban, librarian, governess, and now volunteer.

Partners, she reminded herself. Just as partners.

But perhaps she could pretend, if only for the night.

The hall opened into a much larger gathering space where the music came from a band in the corner, and couples were dancing together. Violet and Isadora were already dragging each other and a begrudgingly less eager Quigley toward a group gathering for a larger dance as the music shifted. A group dance, where the ladies moved between partners in flashes of coloured silk and lace, an elegant piece that was far out of Olivia’s own league.

“And that,” Jacques said suddenly, offering out a glass of a strange green, bubbling drink to her from the two glasses he had snatched from a passing waiter. “is Esme Squalor.”

She followed his gesture to the woman in the midst of the room, who had not worn a mask at all. She stood out well enough – her dress was entirely black and gold and completely out of taste in a way that made Olivia’s nose wrinkle briefly.

“Are those feathers?”

“Probably.” He muttered, and when Esme Squalor moved Olivia could see that yes, in fact her dress was made entirely of feathers that had been dyed. She let out an obnoxious laugh at something the man beside her said. She was certain she’d heard the name before. Squalor.

“This is her house. Her party.” Olivia spoke up. “That man beside her – that’s Jerome Squalor, isn’t it? They say he’s the richest man in the city.”

“I’m sure he is, even with the lavish amount Esme spends. You’ve met her?”

“We – she nearly tripped me off your doorstep, I think. The day I came to interview for the governess position.” Olivia recalled, the memory vaguely swirling in her mind now. “I thought she was the children’s mother.”

Jacques snorted.

“I don’t think that woman has a parenting bone in her body.” He lowered his voice. “She frequents company with Olaf.”

“She was part of the organization then. The part that split.”

“In a sense. She never went through formal training, but sort of turned up with Olaf one day. She was rather good at developing disguises, but when Olaf turned, she went with him. Jerome an unfortunate innocent caught in her crossfire.”

Olivia pursed her lips, studying the woman and her hideous dress and obnoxious laugh, echoing well above the music. Something about her simply made her skin crawl uncomfortably.

Perhaps Esme felt eyes on her, or perhaps she’d caught sight of something else, but the next thing Olivia knew the woman was sweeping toward them, abandoning her husband to her gaggle of friends. Olivia’s arm tightened on Jacques’.

“My, my. What a surprise to see you as my guest, Mr. Snicket.” She mused, and Olivia tried to make herself as small as possible to no avail. “Finally come around to the right side of things?”

“Not quite.” He smiled, a little forced. “You’re looking . . . vibrant.”

“Isn’t it lovely? I had the feathers plucked one by one off a rather clever group of trained bats.” She grinned, baring teeth, and Olivia felt Jacques stiffen beside her, clearly bothered by something Olivia hadn’t quite caught onto yet.

“Bats don’t have feathers.” Olivia said before she could stop herself, and mentally kicked herself the moment Esme’s gaze turned to her. “Bats have fur, not feathers. And I can’t imagine even an entire flock of bats yielding enough fur to make a dress. Are you certain they weren’t crows?”

Esme’s lip curled slightly; Olivia tried very hard to look as passive as possible, betraying nothing. She was suddenly quite happy for the mask.

“You’ve picked up another stray rat, I see.” Esme said, glancing at Olivia up and down. Her tone dripped with disdain. “She looks decent, the very least. Has he recruited you into his farce of heroics then, pet?”

“I volunteered.” Olivia quipped, a small part of her satisfied at the sneer that crossed Esme’s face.

“Something you will quickly come to regret, I’m afraid.” She scowled at Olivia, before her attention turned back to Jacques. “I’d ask for a dance, but my card is all filled up. Feel free to enjoy the evening, though I certainly wouldn’t mind if you decided to take a long walk off a short pier. Let me know if the thought ever occurs.” She trilled, before she was gone in another swirl of feathers. Olivia let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“She’s a,” she frowned, trying to find the words. “she’s actually quite awful.”

“And this is her playing nice.” Jacques said between gritted teeth. Olivia glanced over to the dance floor as she heard the song shift, comforted by being able to immediately find their three charges.

“Is she playing idiot as well?” Olivia muttered, and Jacques let out a short bark of laughter.

“You really have no idea how happy I am to have you around, Olivia Caliban.” He said quietly, and she twisted her head to look at him with a blush colouring her cheeks.

“I’m happy to be here, Jacques Snicket.” She smiled warmly.

“Shall we join them?” He gestured to the dance floor, and she glanced to the couples setting up for what she could assume was a waltz, judging by the beginning strains of the violin.

“I might step on your toes.” She warned softly.

“I’m willing to accept that risk.” He mused, and Olivia slid her hand into his.

She felt safe with him. Confident. More at ease. Dancing hardly seemed a fear to face when she was with him.

His hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer as his other took her opposite hand. She desperately tried to recall her lessons as a young girl as the music began and the dancing started. He used the hand in her own to guide her effortlessly, and Olivia moved swiftly in her attempts to follow.

“I haven’t danced since I was little.” She confessed, pleased to have the chance to talk without the alarm of anyone overhearing. Not that it was riveting conversation to overhear, but she trusted him. He understood. Others did not. Others were the reason she had stopped attending such functions to begin with.

“You’re doing beautifully.” He replied gently. “I promise any bruises to my toes will be swiftly forgiven.”

“I’d never forgive myself.”

“Never?” He arched a brow, mask lifting to one side. She bit her lip to hide her laughter.

“Not for a very long time, at least?”

She was rewarded with another splendid, charming grin before he spun her around. The room passed in a blur of colour before he caught her again, their bodies pressed together closer than before. If he noticed, he didn’t seem to mind. Olivia didn’t either; she could feel every step and slight shift he made, and fell into step more easily as the music rose around them. Her gaze wandered, keeping a close eye on three children, who she was surprised to find met her gaze right back. Violet and Isadora wore matching grins, and Quigley was watching in vague fascination as they danced.

“They’re looking at us.”

“No. They’re looking at you.”

Her gaze snapped back to Jacques, who’s expression had softened in the flash of a moment. She felt her heart skip a few beats and slam into overdrive that had nothing to do with the dancing. If he hadn’t been such an expert leader, she was certain she would have tripped over her own two feet then and there. He kept a steady hand at her waist and swept her along until she was dizzy and flushed from the exertion and excitement.

The world around them seemed nothing. She only had eyes for him, their gazes locked from behind delicate masks. His gaze dropped briefly, to her lips – was he thinking of _kissing_ her? The thought sent a thrill she hadn’t known possible through her. Jacques Snicket wouldn’t possibly – would he? In a room full of people? Surely not. Not in front of the children. He was her employer. Things were meant to remain professional.

Olivia politely told the logical voice in the back of her head to _shut up_.

The music swelled, beginning to wind down to the end of the dance, and his gaze fell to her lips a second time. Her breath hitched in her throat, certain he was going to kiss her and she had never been kissed before –

In her dizzying thoughts, she made enough of a misstep to lose her footing.

Just as he had on the stairs at home, Jacques caught her quite easily just as the music ended, and turned it into a move that made it look purposeful, not as if she’d simply tripped over air.

“Alright?” He asked, and Olivia only nodded, unable to find her voice as he righted her. The music was already shifting again, the people around them shifting partners. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Quigley ask a surprised Violet to dance, Isadora urging her friend to join her brother. They passed Jacques and Olivia as they effectively switched places.

“I didn’t know you could dance, Olivia.” Isadora beamed brightly. “You and Jacques were beautiful.”

“Thank you. It was, ah, it was nothing.” Olivia wished she’d thought to bring a fan or something because was the room suddenly growing warm? Beside her, Jacques reached up to loosen his cravat. She swallowed thickly, trying very hard to put the imagine of his lips against her own out of her mind. She had felt them once, on her cheek, and she had the imagination that they would feel far better against her lips.

_Get a handle on yourself, Olivia_.

Inhaling sharply to try and clear her head, Olivia plastered on a large smile and turned to watch Quigley and Violet dance. Jacques fetched them more of the strange bubbling green drinks that Olivia took a sip of for the first time – and nearly retched at the taste.

“What in stars is this?” She frowned, eagerly passing the glass off to a passing waiter. “I’ve never tasted something so vile.”

“Parsley soda.” Isadora said with a wince, staring at her glass and the green bubbles floating up and down. “It’s popular right now.”

“Clearly not for the taste.” Olivia muttered, and Jacques chuckled from her other side.

The music played, the guests dance, and Olivia observed. Jacques danced with Isadora next, and she was more than content to watch them from the sidelines, whilst keeping an eye on the other two locked in careful conversation on the chaise beside her. Her gaze also kept finding Esme in the room – on the third glance, she was surprised to see the other woman meet her look for a moment and hold it, before returning to whatever conversion she was having on the opposite side of the room.

“Oh-excuse me!”

Her vision of Esme was cut off when a waiter fell nearly squarely into her lap. Olivia made a noise of protest and alarm at the poor man, who rolled to her left; already she could feel the liquid of the parsley soda sinking into the silk of the dress and wetting her skin, staining dark patches all over the lace. The waiter kept apologizing over and over again in an accent she couldn’t quite place, while Violet and Quigley tried to get to her across him in alarm.

“Here, here, let me help! Do fetch us a towel, small children.” The waiter waved at the other two, trying and nearly failing to pick himself up. Olivia knelt to aid him, and realized her mistake the moment she felt a blade digging into her back. She gasped sharply and the waiter met her gaze with the sudden still calmness of a man not at all in peril or sorry for spilling parsley soda all over her dress.

The gaze of a man hell bent on destroying everything she had fought so hard for.

She hadn’t recognized him immediately in the waiter get up, his false facial hair and shaved unibrow.

“Olaf.” She ground out between gritted teeth, glancing at the surrounding guests. None seemed the wiser.

“I’m not here to kill you Caliban. Not yet.” He grinned, and Olivia wanted to vomit from the stench of his breath. “A warning. Those children and their fortunes will be mine. Stand in my way, and you’ll die with Snicket.” He dug the knife sharply, and she felt it pierce the silk of her dress and hit the starched, stiff fabric of her corset. She needed a plan. Any plan. Anything to get away from him immediately or to signal Jacques – at least get someone to pay attention that all was not well in the corner of the room. Violet and Quigley both had gone off to fetch towels, unaware, and Olivia felt her stomach twist itself into knots.

“However,” Olaf continued, a portion of his facial hair peeling away from his sweaty skin. “stand aside, and I will ensure your possessions including that little hole in the wall of yours is returned to you, and you will _live_. Sounds like a decent offer, if I do say so myself. I suggest taking it, you meddling woman.”

Olivia’s lip curled. Her hands stretched out to try and find something, anything to smack him away.

“If you think I’ll let someone like you get away with this, with _any_ of this, you’re as mad as I thought you were. I’m a _volunteer_.”

“Then _unvolunteer_.”

“Not a chance in this life or the next, Olaf. I’ll protect those children. They’ve done nothing to deserve your cruelty.”

Olaf snarled, and the blade was suddenly at her throat. She inhaled sharply, prepared to scream, but he pressed the edge of it just tighter against her skin in warning.

“You know nothing about what they deserve, what their families _deserve_.” He sneered, growing closer to her face now, bearing down on her uncomfortably. “You’ll die for a cause you don’t even understand.”

“Then so be it.”

Her hand closed around the stem of a glass that had landed on the chaise, it’s contents spilled forth. She swung, hard, and shattered it across the side of his face. Instantly he recoiled and pain exploded from her palm as the bits of glass dug in. She didn’t care.

Her heart pounding, she drew herself to her feet and wove through the few that had turned at the sound of shattering glass, staring at her now with a sharp, critical gaze. She didn’t dare look back to see if Olaf had recovered. She fled to the hall, nearly running into Violet and Quigley coming around the corner with towels. Without explaining she grabbed them both by the arms and propelled them toward the door. Isadora was with Jacques, she knew. Safe. These two were her priority.

The night air hit her, hard, and the heat in her skin subsided. It did nothing for the rage just beneath her skin, however. The rage at the nerve of Olaf, which was helping her ignore the pain in her hand.

“Olivia?” Violet frowned. “Olivia, you’re hurt. What’s happened? Where’s Jacques and Isadora?”

“On their way just behind me.” She said without thinking. She worried for Jacques, yes, but had promised her protection of the children. He wouldn’t forgive her if Olaf got his hands on one of them because she hadn’t gotten them out of harms way.

She didn’t stop until they were at the end of the drive. Immediately Gustav leaped up from their carriage parked in the line of them along the curb.

“Please go find Jacques.” She begged, quietly, ushering Violet and Quigley into the cart. “It’s imperative. He trusts you, as do I. We need to return home. Immediately.”

Gustav seemed to hesitate, but did as she asked. Olivia made no move to climb into the cart herself, heart still beating out a harsh rhythm at her ribs. Violet and Quigley glanced to each other then to Olivia in turns, clearly concerned and worried but afraid to ask. She tried to school her breathing into something normal, but her chest felt tight and her corset too restricting and suddenly the world was spinning out of control.

“Olivia? Olivia!”

A hand at her arm steadied her, as it had twice already that evening. She faltered, ready to swipe at what she assumed to be Olaf, until the voice registered and she saw his face, unmasked. Jacques looked utterly terrified for a moment, worry a close second to the expression on his face. Isadora was already leaping into the carriage to join her brother and Violet, loudly asking what had occurred.

Olivia couldn’t find her voice, fist clenched around her injured hand. Jacques seemed begging to ask, but to her relief he didn’t. Merely offered her a hand up to join the children, and they were off home.

“Olaf.” She managed, halfway through the return trip. “He was there.”

She did not tell them about his offer, his threat, for it would be giving away the organization. The three children were silent the rest of the ride and as the carriage pulled to a stop in front of the Snicket home, Jacques stopped them from exiting.

“You know Olivia and I would never let anything happen to you.” He said, lowly to the three of them. “You’re safe here with me. With us. I made that promise to you and your siblings when you first came here, and I’m making it again.”

“We know.” Violet replied quietly. “We trust you.”

“We just don’t trust Olaf.” Isadora added.

“And that he might take you away.” Quigley finished, softer than either of them. Olivia felt her heart shattered all over again at the knowledge of the plight these children had endured. How many people in their lives they had lost already.

“He will not take us away.” Olivia said suddenly. “Not now. Not ever. Jacques is your guardian and I promised to ensure he remains that, and alive and well. That you all remain alive and well. Olaf will not take anything else from you. I swear it.”

The three were silent again, and Jacques held the door open for them. They immediately darted up the stairs, likely to relay the nights’ events to their siblings. Larry greeted them in the entryway to take their coats. Olivia winced when Jacques snagged her injured hand to help her out of the carriage, hissing furiously. He frowned.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing.” She didn’t want to worry, didn’t want to see him frown, but he had already seen the blood stain on her glove and was peeling away the silk from her skin.

“I can’t see it well out here. Let’s get you inside.”

Olivia opened her mouth to protest, but he gave her no option. Larry took his coat as well, before Jacques guided her to the kitchen. He immediately set a kettle on to boil, withdrawing a small kit from an upper cabinet. She lay her arm out, palm up, for him to inspect.

“Now, you can tell me everything.” He added, dragging a stool from the counter over to sit. He withdrew a pair of tweezers from the small pouch of what appeared to be a first aid kit. Olivia winced as he began to pick at the small bits of glass embedded into her skin.

So she did. Tell him everything. Olaf’s threat, promise. Warning. Whatever it had been besides an attempt to scare her. The more she spoke, the more the muscle began to jump in Jacques’ cheek until she was certain he would grind his teeth down to nothingness at the force he was clenching his jaw.

When she finished, silence fell across the kitchen until the kettle began to whistle shrilly. He made two cups of tea, placing them in front of each of them to cool. The rest of the water he dumped into a bowl, and dipped a clean rag into before taking it to her bloodied palm.

“You’re very good at this.” She commented quietly, trying to change the subject.

“Lemony, Kit, and myself had all sorts of scrapes growing up. We learned to tend to them ourselves so our mother wouldn’t be as furious. The tears in the clothes gave a bit of it away, though.” He murmured, though Olivia could still see the tension in his frame. She waited politely until he had cleaned the wound and disinfected it with something that smelled strongly of alcohol and made her hand numb with burning. Gingerly, he wrapped it neatly and tucked the end over itself so it would remain snug around her palm.

“Let me see your neck.”

The dark color of his eyes and the tone of his voice dared her to disobey. Olivia tilted her head, exhaustion beginning to creep in now that her adrenaline had drained. She felt his hand brush gingerly along the exposed flesh of her neck, and tried very hard not to think about it in any way other than _helpful_.

“It looks like he just knicked you. Superficial.” He murmured a moment later, and she felt the warm rag drag across her neck as well. When he pulled away, she dipped her head back down and found herself eye level with him as he had leaned across the table to clean away the blood. Her breath hitched in her throat, choking back any words as they remained close, neither willing to draw away.

To her dismay, it was Jacques who cleared his throat quietly and drew away, discarding the glass shards and rag dirtied with her blood, before stowing the first aid kit back into the cabinet. Olivia sat quietly, sipping at her tea.

“You were very brave today.” He offered kindly, picking up his own teacup.

“It was nothing, really. I just knew I needed to get Quigley and Violet out of there. I’m sorry I left you.”

“Don’t. It’s what was proper form. Our priority is always the children.”

Olivia only hummed softly in agreement, glancing up at him; he was staring across the room at a shelf, not meeting her gaze. She frowned gently – had she said something wrong? Upset him? Worry plagued her immediately, drowning her exhaustion quite suddenly.

Then he took her injured hand again, and drew it to his lips to press a lingering kiss against her palm.

“I’m very sorry you were injured today.” Jacques spoke lowly.

“It will heal.” She replied evenly, even if it felt as if the air had left her lungs. “I knew I had to get to the children. To you.”

His gaze flickered back to her face.

“You’re one hell of a volunteer, Olivia Caliban.”

“I have one hell of a partner, Jacques Snicket.”

He smiled then, briefly, and pressed another kiss to her bandaged palm.

Maybe it wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind before, but it still sent the same warmth through her. Other than her parents, she had never felt so cared for. Adored. Jacques genuinely seemed to enjoy her company, a fact which made her pleased all the more.

Vaguely she wondered if he tended to all the other volunteers as closely as he had to her just now.

Probably not.

The thought brought a hidden smile to her face.

She had danced with him that evening. The world had fallen away. Everything had been perfect.

Even now, sitting in his kitchen with her hand in his as they sipped tea, everything seemed perfect.

She felt safe. Welcomed. Wanted.

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got out of hand but I literally couldn't stop writing it. 
> 
> ALSO. In other news, I've started a pinterest board for this fic and my other series, because I'm a very visual/aesthetic sort of person. If you're also that sort of person, you can find the one for this fic here! 
> 
> https://www.pinterest.com/brandflakeeee/writ-and-wisdom/
> 
> I will probably constantly be adding to it, both with ideas of things that have happened and things to come, so stay tuned! As always, thanks so much for reading and reviewing, I look forward to reading everything you guys comment. It's seriously the highlight of my week.


	6. chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter and a lesson.

The children had been shaken by the events of Esme’s party, choosing to remain within the safety of the manor than risk going to the park or out for walks, even with Olivia on guard. Olivia herself was on edge the week that followed, acutely aware of every shadow and noise while still trying to ensure the safety and security of her six charges. They had been quiet during their lessons, and that particular morning she had enough of the unspoken Olaf presence in the room, so to speak.

Like most lessons they had gathered in the library. Jacques was out with his sister following up on a lead, so they were left to their devices. The children were writing an assignment Olivia had brought up – but their quiet quill scratching seemed to overwhelm the silence. Olivia couldn’t keep her gaze to her book and when attempting to, found herself reading the same paragraph over and over again.

She snapped the book close a little harsher than intended, breaking the suffering silence. Six pairs of eyes settled on her.

“I think we should talk.” She announced, quieter. “I thought perhaps we might go to the park tomorrow.”

“We’d rather not.” Klaus said, frowning.

“It’s perfectly safe. Olaf will not be there. I promised to protect you.”

“And if he takes you away like he did our parents?”

Olivia’s heart twisted painfully.

“He will _not_.” She affirmed sharply, determined. “Olaf will not touch you, terrorize you, or even talk to you as far as Jacques and I are concerned. He wants you to be afraid, children. To hide. You’ve all been so brave as it is and I certainly won’t force you to do anything you don’t want – but I will not let him ruin your lives any longer. To keep you from enjoying yourselves, doing the things you love. If Olaf is foolish enough to try it, we’ll be there to stop him.” Olivia wished she hadn’t promised Jacques not to tell the children about VFD. It didn’t feel right keeping such a secret from them, especially when the organization had so clearly been such a large, unknown factor in their lives. And still was.

“I will see him behind bars for his nonsense. Jacques and I both will. I swear it.” She continued. “You deserve happiness, Baudelaires and Quagmires. We only want to ensure it. Olaf will never take us from you.”

She wasn’t sure if it was helping, but she felt the need to atleast try and help them feel somewhat secure. After the masquerade she was now, more than ever, determined to see Olaf punished. She couldn’t imagine herself and the children as his only victims in the city – it was just a matter of proving he set the fires that caused the deaths, which would be difficult. Especially considering his friendship with Esme Squalor who could easily buy the silence of others. It was frustrating the longer she considered it – the past few nights she and Jacques had discussed it in length in the secret room of the library over tea. Trying to work out a plan. She hoped his meeting with Kit that day would prove more successful.

Her own research had turned up nothing. Not that she had expected it to. She had been combing books and old newspapers that Jacques had already been through in the library, hoping to uncover any new detail he might have missed that would pin Olaf to the crimes. Frequently she found herself lamenting the loss of her own collection of books – while they were mostly fiction that stocked the shelves of her shop, a section had been non-fiction and she had kept faithful records of every newspaper every week for those who sought out particular features or wanted to reference something for whatever reason.

“Thank you.” It was Violet who spoke, quietly. “We know you only want to protect us. We just – worry.”

“Worry is warranted, I should think. But all I ask is that you not let it govern your lives.”

“Bagel!”

Olivia’s gaze fell to the youngest Baudelaire who had spoken so clearly, staring back at her with bright eyes.

“What my sister means -.”

“—I understood her perfectly, Klaus. She is happy to go to the park tomorrow and will happily gnaw his knees if he shows. Very violent, but warranted in your case I think, Sunny.” Olivia smiled softer. Klaus and Violet exchanged a small look.

“You understand her?” The eldest ventured, and Olivia glanced to her.

“Of course.”

“No one’s ever – not since our parents . . . .”

“One would be surprised to hear and understand many things, if one only chooses to listen.” Olivia mused quietly, and offered out her arms for Sunny. Klaus handed his sister over and Olivia settled the girl against her hip. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Tuesday!”

“I thought so too. Do you think you might help me convince your siblings and the Quagmires to join us at the park tomorrow?”

“We’ll go.” Isadora piped up. “We trust you. Trust that we’re safe. You protected us as the party and we have no reason to think you’d do otherwise.”

“Olaf won’t know what hit him when we take him down.” Duncan pipped up, determination set in his features that was perfectly mirrored in Quigley’s.

“We won’t let his shadow threaten us every corner.” Violet agreed quietly. “I want to be brave.”

“You already are, Violet.” Olivia reached out to touch her cheek fondly. “All of you are. As I ask is that you continue that bravery, but know that you have someone in your corner from this point forward. Several some ones who will see to it your safety and happiness and future lives. One day our enemies will be defeated. Very soon.”

It was Violet who stepped forward suddenly and hugged her, sending Olivia slightly off guard. Klaus followed, as did the triplets until she was surrounded by the warmth of her charges. The arm not holding tight to Sunny curled around as much of them as she could, her heart soaring. She adored these children. Loved them fiercely. And meant every word she said to them.

Olaf would be defeated, and they would have a happier future. She was determined to see it through. A governess would not always be needed, no – but the world would always have use for a volunteer.

After the impromptu break, Olivia dismissed them from lessons. She didn’t have the heart to keep them in the library when the day was so lovely and they had shown promise enough to not let Olaf terrorize their lives more than he already was. Isadora and Violet quietly slipped out to the back gardens, with the boys trailing not far behind. Olivia watched the group through the library window, Sunny now dozing against her shoulder. Her fingers absently rubbed soft circles across the toddler’s back, humming a soft melody she could recall her own mother singing to her.

“Miss Caliban?”

She turned gently to Gustav, who had entered with a letter in his hand.

“It’s addressed to you.” He offered it out. “Shall I take Sunny upstairs for her nap?”

“I’ll mind her, thank you. I’ll read it after.” She took the letter with her freehand. Satisfied the children in the garden were being watched over now by Gustav, she headed upstairs. Ensuring Sunny asleep in her cot, Olivia turned her attention to the letter.

It was ordinary, and entirely blank on the outside except the wax seal it had been closed with. She couldn’t make out the design, as if it had been hastily sealed and sent. There was no return address, just her own name scripted delicately beneath the seal. She broke it open cautiously in the hall, her steps slowing as she read.

_Ms. Olivia Caliban_

_Welcome to the organization. Consider me a friend. Someone with the same interests as you and Jacques Snicket. Someone who wants nothing more than to see Count Olaf in jail or dead, and the children you now care for free of his burden._

_I offer nothing in this letter besides an introduction, and to expect more letters from me. It is imperative you tell no one about this letter, including Jacques Snicket or the children. This and any others will be for yours eyes only, and I will do whatever I can to help you gather information to ensure the above goals are met._

_I know it is difficult to trust a message without a name or face. I offer knowledge for you to trust me – in the home you are in, there is a library. In that library there is a secret room behind a bookshelf when one pulls on the book of very fragrant grapes. Inside is the meeting place of our very organization, a safe haven for those who ask of it._

_Find it somewhere in you to trust me, Olivia Caliban. And I will do the same for you._

_Look for more of my letters soon._

Olivia blinked at the abrupt end, frowning when she spotted no name or signature that might given name to her mysterious messenger. Brows knitting together, she glanced up and down the hall to ensure she hadn’t been seen reading the letter by anyone particular, before she dashed into her bedroom. Closing the door, she reread the letter quickly, then slowly, and over a fourth time as she paced in her room.

Should she tell Jacques anyway? Was it a trick? Olaf, perhaps – if he had once been part of the organization, he would know of the room. Then again, she couldn’t fathom the penmanship belonged to someone like Olaf. Far too neat. There was nothing hidden in the message that she could find, no details that might point her in any direction besides confusion. Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Olivia pondered the letter.

Information against Olaf was what she needed most. If an anonymous source likely part of the organization was willing to offer it, perhaps it wise to take it. Still, it didn’t sit well with her not to know the person behind such a letter was – much less if any information they offered would be helpful or even truthful. Still, that particular note offered no further clues except to look for other letters in the future.

She’d wait, then. Wait for another letter to come, and _then_ perhaps tell Jacques. Another secret to keep. It made her uneasy just the thought of it – Olivia had never been a very good liar if directly asked. She prayed Jacques would have no reason to ask her of the letters. For good measure, she opened a page in her current book to random, folded the letter neatly inside, and shut it tightly closed. Then shut the book in her nightstand drawer. No one would have reason to disturb it there, except herself.

Her mind felt adrift the rest of the day and into the afternoon, even well into dinner. Jacques didn’t return until after the children had gone upstairs and Olivia had seen them safely to their rooms before she returned downstairs to wait. With tea. When he stepped into the kitchen he paused, clearly surprised to see her still waiting up. Kit ran straight into his back, having not expected his sudden stop, and made a noise of protest before shoving him unkindly out of the way with a grunt.

“The tea is still hot.” She promised, smiling uncertainly at Jacques. “I wanted – I was worried with what you two were up to today. I thought it best I wait for your return.”

“That’s very kind of you, Olivia.” Jacques said gently, and took the offered mug of tea she offered him. His mouth opened again as if to speak, but was cut off by a rather loud clatter. Both of them twisted around to see Kit rifling through the pantry, wincing at the noise she’d just made.

“Sorry. I was trying to see if Gustav still had his stash of sweets in the coffee tin.” She muttered, voice muffled by clearly her stolen treasure. “Want some?”

“And face his wrath now that you’ve eaten his chocolates? Not likely.” Jacques snorted, running a hand through his hair that sent it flying in all directions. Olivia saw how tired he looked then, clearly a long day of work behind him. She opened her mouth to suggest that he retire to bed when another clang from the pantry interrupted her.

“Sorry.” Kit muttered again, and her head poked out of the small room. “Do you have any oranges?”

“Kit, you act like you’re starving.” Jacques bemoaned.

“I’ve been living on oats like a barnyard animal for a week, little brother. I’ve practically wasted away.”

“We’re _twin_ s _._ ”

“And I was born two minutes before you, which makes you the _little_ brother.”

Olivia watched the exchange in amusement before Kit emerged from the pantry with her stolen orange, already digging into the thick peel. Olivia blinked at the sight of her, puzzled and curious all at once at the strange look she was sporting.

“Are those men’s trousers?”

Kit glanced down, looking bemused at Olivia’s question. She was certainly wearing trousers and now that Olivia bothered to pay closer attention, likely a man’s shirt as well the way it hung loosely at her frame despite the knot in the fabric at the side.

“You’ll learn very quickly how difficult it is to do things in dresses.” Kit said. “They hinder movement and aren’t exactly the type of garment one wants to be wearing while sneaking about. Beatrice and I did, once. My dress caught on a fire escape and she had to rip the whole back of it clean off to get me down. We completely lost our target, but I was laughing so hard by that point it didn’t matter.”

Beatrice, Olivia recalled. The Baudelaires’ mother.

“I think I might look very funny buying men’s clothing.”

“You can borrow mine.” Jacques offered, and then quickly added: “Kit does as well.”

“Only because Dewey refuses to lend me his. Afraid I might get a hole in them.”

“You absolutely would and we both know it.”

Kit made a face at her brother, neatly eating the slices of orange and tossing the peel into a rubbish container nearby. Olivia cleared her throat quietly.

“Did you get any information?”

Jacques glanced at the door.

“They’re in bed.” She added, assuring. “I checked on them not long before you arrived. Sound asleep. We won’t be disturbed.”

He nodded once, and Kit sat down at the small table on his other side.

“It was both useful and not.” Jacques began quietly. “We’ve both been trailing Esme and Olaf, trying to catch them up to something, but so far they’ve not made enough of a misstep. But they are planning something. We overheard that much, but can’t be for certain exactly what.”

“However, I’m confident we might find more information somewhere else. They’re going out to the country this next week, Esme’s insisting. Well, Jerome is – it’s traditional for them to spend the summer at their country estate and Olaf is going with them.”

“You think they might have more physical evidence there?” Olivia questioned, brows knitted together.

“I think they will.” Kit replied. “Olaf was packing when we left him last, everything he could get his hands on and squish into trunks. He’s taking his plans with them.”

“Are you certain of it?”

“No, which is why I’ll be staying behind in the city to search his rubbish little flat as soon as I’m certain they’re outside city limits.” Kit mused, glancing at her brother and then back to Olivia. “Which leaves you two to take a trip to the country.”

“The children could use the time away from the city.” Jacques murmured. “The Snicket estate isn’t far from the Squalors, but well enough away that they can’t possibly sneak in without alerting someone visually. But I don’t know how to get the information from them, even that far away.”

“Distraction?” Olivia offered. “One can lure them out of the house and the other can sneak in and search for evidence in the meantime.”

“Clever.” Kit beamed. “Do keep Olivia around, Jacques. I’ll have your head if you don’t.”

Jacques frowned lowly at his sister, and Olivia tried not to turn a shade of pink.

“We can sort out the details through letters – they won’t be leaving until the end of the week, at any rate. We have time to figure things out.” Kit continued, oblivious, before she leveled her gaze back to Olivia. “Has he taught you anything in regards to self defense yet? He told me about the party – magnificent, by the way – but there isn’t always a glass within reach.”

“No – not yet.” Olivia murmured. “Is it that important? I’ve never been a particularly violent person.”

“It’s not so much violence as it is being able to defend yourself from attacks, as well as the children.” Kit’s chair screeched against the floor as she stood, and grabbed Olivia by the arm to haul her up before the other could protest. “Let me show you.”

“Kit, it’s late.”

“It’ll only take a minute. I only want to prove my point.” Kit put a very confused Olivia in the center of the room, leveling herself across from her. Olivia glanced at Jacques who was watching the scene with a mixed expression.

“Now, I’m going to come at you.” Kit warned sharply. “I won’t actually hurt you, but I want to see how well you can do for yourself. Some people take to it like a duck to water. Others, not so much.”

“I – well – all right.” Olivia pressed her lips into a thin line, and tried to recall anything she had read about self defense, which was very little. Even in her favorite fiction works the action sequences weren’t described well enough, not that she read many of those sorts of books. She preferred emotionally charged ones.

While trying to recall and wrack her brain for anything useful, Kit moved. Olivia was almost surprised at how swiftly Kit crossed the distance between them, arm raised as if prepared to strike. Instinctively Olivia sidestepped to avoid it, but Kit countered by swinging her other arm out to catch Olivia at the middle.

The slender governess twisted away from the other’s grasp, deciding to mount an offense by reaching out to – well, she didn’t know what. She didn’t want to hurt Kit either (not that she was certain she’d ever land a hit). Kit moved out of the way before Olivia could decide and came at her again from a different angle.

She tried to anticipate the movement, but felt entirely out of her element in trying to block the swipe Kit aimed at her face. She took a step back to avoid it, but the back of her dress caught beneath her shoe and she toppled backwards before Kit could even lay a hand on her. Surprise and shock rippled through her – she had taken herself out of the fight before anything!

Kit laughed, and offered out a hand to help her up.

“I think you’ll make a good defender. Once we get you some better clothes.”

She snuck a look at Jacques, who was still wearing the same puzzled and mixed expression as before. She didn’t realise she was staring until Kit cleared her throat loudly.

“Well then. I’ll be off. Get some rest. I’ll be back bright and early so we can hash out some more details.”

Kit was gone before Olivia could even utter goodbye.

“Are you all right?” Jacques asked immediately as soon she heard the front door shut in the distance.

“I think so.” Olivia muttered, though her backside was sore from her landing. “Though I understand what Kit was talking about with dresses.” Brows furrowed, she moved to pluck up her abandoned tea cup. “So – you have a country estate?”

Jacques expression softened, and his gentle smile returned.

“Yes. My siblings and I spent every summer there. The Baudelaires and Quagmires had estates not far from there, but after they died the properties were sold.” He ran a hand through his hair again, only adding to it’s eccentric frizz. “It’s peaceful. Most of the time. I wish we could go there without pretense.”

“Surely we won’t need to spend every day breaking and entering.” Olivia pointed out. “The children will be expecting we spend time with them too, and I’m sure we can find relaxing activities to do. Not that I know much of what there is to do in the country. I’ve never been.”

“Really?”

“My family weren’t so nearly well off to have two houses.” She admitted quietly. “I grew up in the city. Always. Though I used to dream about the country and the big house I wanted when I was little. Half a wing devoted to a library. A whole stable full of horses.” She sighed. “Sorry. I must be boring you.”

“Not at all.” Jacques was quick to say, and instinctively he reached across the table to take her hands. Olivia glanced down, then back up to his face. His palms were rough, calloused, but warm and gentle against her slender fingers. “You’re a very interesting woman, Olivia Caliban. I could listen to you talk all day.”

“That would make for a very dull day.”

“On the contrary.” He mused. “I’m happy to take you to your first country experience then. Hopefully it won’t disappoint.”

Her fingers squeezed his softly, assuring.

“I’m sure that it won’t. We’ll enjoy ourselves and find what evidence we need to put Olaf away. Perhaps Esme too, if we’re lucky.”

“If we’re lucky.” He echoed kindly. “For now, rest. Kit wasn’t kidding; she’ll be here just after sunrise.”

“You need rest too.” Olivia said before she could stop herself. “I – I just – you looked exhausted when you came in. The tea hasn’t helped that much.”

“I’m afraid to say you’re right, as always.” He stood, releasing her hands to pick up the tea cups and kettle. She immediately missed the contact, the warmth, and let her gaze follow him as he put the dishes into the sink to be cleaned later. He offered out his hand again and Olivia tried not to jump at the chance to take it, winding her arm through his.

The house was quiet, the oil lamps dimmed as he walked her up the stairs.

“I’ll teach you how to defend yourself, if you’d like.” He spoke suddenly. “Would you?”

“Only if I might be able to do it without the handicap of this dress.”

“Of course. I’ll look through my wardrobe and find you something suitable. Though you’re very much not my size, so I’m afraid any clothes of mine might swallow you.”

She laughed quietly, trying to stifle herself as they passed the children’s rooms and stopped outside her own.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She said, turning to face him. “I look forward to it.”

“I do as well. It will be . . .interesting, I think.” He grinned and in the dim lighting, Olivia couldn’t imagine him any more handsome in that moment. Just a moment of peace, where no Olaf or Esme or organization existed. Just a man trying to do right by the six lovely children he had adopted. Olivia felt herself smile all the same.

“Goodnight.” He murmured, breaking the soft silence between them and Olivia caught herself before she could lean any further forward toward him. She’d done so without thinking, and rocked back onto her heels to prevent it. Something else mingled in his expression that he couldn’t quite place, but he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss against her knuckles.

“Goodnight.” She returned in a soft whisper, just as he turned and continued down the hall. Olivia watched until the darkness swallowed him, before she ducked into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. Her heart felt like it might beat out of her chest as she sank onto the edge of her bed.

Her gaze fell to her nightstand, thinking of the letter inside. Guilt worried at her stomach, replacing the butterflies that had been there just moments before.

But the country. They were going to the country. And she was going to wear men’s clothing.

Stranger things had happened, after all.

As she readied for bed, she pressed the fingers Jacques had held against her own cheek, remembering the soft warmth and the gentle touch of his lips in the very same spot. The butterflies returned.

She wanted to sleep with the butterflies, not the guilt.

It was easier to do than she cared to admit.

Olivia Caliban fell asleep with butterflies and a smile, dreaming of a beautiful country estate with a whole wing devoted to a library and a stable full of horses to call her very own. 

And of a handsome, kind and clever volunteer by her side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for the delay in updating! I wanted to let you guys know I have an outline for the rest of this story in my head, so I've already got some juicy plans and I'm super excited to share them with you. This chapter was a bit of a set-up bit to the following chapters, but I still hope you enjoyed (especially now because mysterious letters are showing up! Who could it be?). 
> 
> As always, check out the pinterest board I created for this story that's linked in the last chapter, and if you're feeling kind please comment your thoughts/theories/questions/general everything else down below! Thanks for sticking with me!


	7. chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to the country.

The air outside the city seemed lighter, easier to breathe, and less clouded by smog and dastardly villains. The landscape was beautifully green and lush compared to the industrialization of the city as well. Whereas those in the urban area had only small plots or courtyards of greenery, here it was abundant tenfold. Some of it well kept and some of it not, a lot of it had also been tilled and farmed. It was a landscape of variety and for Olivia, who had never been beyond the city limits, it kept her fascinated on the ride to the Snicket country estate.

The house itself rose up as they turned a gravel drive lined with more trees that were neatly trimmed, but provided copious amounts of shade down the drive. It was here, clearly, the Snickets had displayed more of their wealth when building. Olivia felt her eyes widen at the grandness of it all. Endless windows, neatly gathered flowerbeds filled with beautiful blooms, ivy crawling up the side closest to the drive – it looked straight out of another novel. The land itself the estate sat on was massive it seemed, sprawling in several directions away from the main home.

“There’s fully equipped stables in the back.” Jacques said without her asking. “And a small vegetable garden for freshness, as well as an orchard beyond. There’s an entire parkland, and a walk along the waterway that nearly touches the house.”

The children had admitted earlier they’d only been once in the short time they’d lived with Jacques, when they had first come to live with their guardian. It had been a short stay in the country before moving back to the city, and the lot of them were delighted at the chance to be spending time there again. Olivia was still trying to fathom the grand scale of it all.

“Are you certain you’re not a Duke of something?” She quipped, peering out the window. Jacques laughed.

“Not quite, but my father was a Lord. His father was as well, who was the one who built the estate. He named it, too. Hawthorn Hall. My great-grandmother planted an entire grove of hawthorns because she was so fond of them, and he named it after her.”

“Sounds like there’s quite a bit of history behind it.” Olivia mused as the carriage pulled to a halt. The children climbed out first, much to her amusement, followed by Jacques who offered his hand out to help Olivia down. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she took in the enormity of the house before her.

“Plenty of history. Remind me to tell you the rest of it, some day.”

“Some day.” Olivia echoed with a smile, watching her flock of six disappear inside with excited voices. She gathered her skirts in her free hand and followed in step with Jacques. She had expected the inside to be just as brilliant as the outside, and she was not disappointed.

Clearly, the Snicket who had built the home had excellent tastes and wanted to flaunt it well.

Jacques gave her as much of a tour as possible through the parlor, dining hall (which was large enough to feed an entire army, she was certain), the way to the kitchens, and eventually a massive library that took up two floors on it’s own. Older books seemed to live here, ones less read than the ones at the library in the city. Arching windows in nearly every room they entered offered an unrestricted view of something – the gardens, the river, the hawthorn grove, and even in the library the windows offered a spectacular view.

“There are glasshouses just over there.” He pointed and Olivia followed his gaze. “My mother was a very avid gardener and wanted to keep things year round, so my father had it built for her.”

“Snickets seem to enjoy building things as signs of affection.” She teased, and Jacques’ lips twitched briefly.

“Yes, I’m certain my brother would’ve built something on the grounds for his love if he’d been able.” He said quietly. Olivia couldn’t recall him ever mentioning Lemony before, which made her pause. Jacques continued, clearly unbothered by her hesitation. “This house was supposed to go to him.”

“He refused it?” Olivia asked slowly, cautious. Jacques’ gaze remained out the window, settled on a spot she couldn’t quite place.

“In a way. He wanted to be a writer and said he had no use for such space, that the house in the city would do him just fine. Beatrice convinced him to accept it, at one point. They were going to live here together after they were married. He rejected this place when she returned his ring.”

Olivia’s brows knitted together at the sudden onslaught of information. Jacques must have caught her expression from the corner of his eye.

“I forget you weren’t here; it feels like you’ve always been here.” He murmured. “My brother was very much in love with Beatrice Baudelaire. Granted, she wasn’t a Baudelaire at the time. But they loved each other very much.”

“What happened?” She found herself asking, unable to help her own curiosity. Lemony and Beatrice? There hadn’t been anything in the papers, not that she had seen.

“I don’t know the full details – Lemony refused to tell even Kit or myself after the chaos of it all. One week they were engaged, the next they were not. Lemony almost lost himself because of losing her. She married Bertrand and he . . . well, I’m sure you’ve seen the papers.”

Olivia nodded mutely, gazing out the window in thought. How utterly awful, she lamented. Two people so in love and so very much not in the next instant. She could assume the Baudelaire children had no idea just how close they had been to being Snicket children instead, long before Jacques had ever brought them into his home. The fact that Jacques seemed to insinuate that Lemony’s disappearace and consequential death was of his own doing didn’t sit quite well with her, either. It seemed far too fictional to believe – coming from a former bookkeeper and librarian.

“It’s beautiful here.” She quietly changed the subject, noting the brooding look Jacques was wearing. Anything to distract him, to try and bring back that smile she so adored. It suited him better.

“It is. I’ve come to appreciate it more in the past few years than I ever did in my youth.” He replied gently. “I’d like to come back here more often.”

“I’m sure the children would love it.” Olivia agreed.

“Would you?” He asked, turning his gaze to her. Olivia felt blindsided by the simple question.

“Me?”

“Like to come here more often?”

“I should think I wouldn’t say no, if invited.” She said hesitantly, and his lips curled into another soft smile.

“Consider yourself always invited, Olivia Caliban.” He mused, and she returned his smile with a soft one of her own. The butterflies had resumed their dance in her stomach, intensifying the longer he held her gaze. His eyes were fascinating to her, so warm and inviting but hiding a depth and darkness put there by the organization and the loss of his brother. She felt his hand rest against her arm, steady, drawing her in. Her lips parted as if to speak, startled, and felt his breath fan across her face. Since when had they been standing that close to one another? Her heart sped quickly out of rhythm, lungs burning as she realized she was holding her breath. Waiting. Anticipating.

A loud clatter above their heads sounded and immediately the pair jumped apart. He sighed dramatically.

“That’ll be the children.”

“I should go ensure they’re not actually into anything.” Olivia replied with a faint smile. “That is my job.”

“And a wonderful job you do.” He gestured for her to lead the way. Olivia gathered her skirts and headed upstairs to make sure her six charges were behaving themselves.

Dinner that evening was filled with chatter about what the children wanted to do during their stay at the country, and Olivia listened with rapt attention while stealing glances at Jacques, who was smiling and nodding and offering advice about the sorts of things they could get into. Going riding seemed to be the number one on their list, though Violet also expressed interest in salvaging some of the older equipment from the garage – for what purpose, Olivia couldn’t fathom. Klaus and Duncan both seemed eager to read their way through the library, and Sunny seemed just content to be near her family.

What a lovely picture they made.

With no immediate leads on when their enemies would be least likely to suspect something, it left a few days free for Olivia to _actually_ tend to the children other than trying to defeat Olaf. Horseback riding took up most of the first day, with Olivia receiving brief lessons before being forced to learn on the go. Not as terrible as she had expected, she was sore late into the afternoon by the time they returned to the house after the children inspected seemingly every inch of the property. Olivia admired it with the same eye as before, feeling in some aspects an entire world away from someone like Jacques who had grown up so well off.

Not for the first time, she lamented her shop a little more. It had been her whole world for most of her life, and while she was grateful to be experiencing this world, she missed her own bubble of relative safety and happiness. She hoped they’d be able to defeat Olaf before he ruined everything inside her shop.

The second afternoon, the children broke off to respective activities. Olivia wasn’t giving them lessons, seeing the trip as a bit of a break from their schooling before they resumed when they returned to the city. This seemed to suit everyone just fine, and it left her with a bit more freedom during the day to investigate and explore. That afternoon, however, Jacques had grabbed her by the elbow and told her to follow him. Olivia Caliban was not nearly so foolish to disagree.

Away from the house to along the riverbank he led her. The water was still, and cold, she could imagine, which ruled out swimming. Her curiosity was evident on her face, apparently, for Jacques removed a device from the bag he was carrying and offered it out to her.

At first she thought it a gun, but it looked slightly off from an actual firearm. The body was welded together in a way she didn’t first understand, following the twisting metal to a long barrel at the end, and a trigger.

“Not a gun?” Olivia looked up.

“Not a gun.” Jacques clarified. “One of many weapons the organization has in our arsenal, but we aren’t nearly so base that we resort to firearms. The other side does, of course, but we have gadgets that prove quite useful in return.”

“So what does this fire, then?”

“Rubber pellets. Kit’s design, actually. If you hit a foe with it, to them it will feel like a bullet went through them. The pain is evenly matched, but it won’t kill them. Just hinder their advances. It’s wise you learn how to shoot one.”

“What, no bows and arrows?”

“Too difficult to hide in a disguise.” He grinned, pulling out small bottles from his bag next. He set them in a line along the stone wall that ran the length of the riverbank, and Olivia took the time to study the weapon more closely. She had never been a violent sort, but she knew Olaf and Esme and anyone else on their side would likely not hesitate to try and kill her. Or Jacques or the children. Knowing self defense seemed logical at best.

“What happens if they’re too close to use this?” She ventured as he returned to her side.

“Hand to hand. But hopefully you’ll never need to use it.”

“Are you going to teach me that as well?”

“If you’d like.”

Olivia tilted her head.

“It seems only logical, as your sister said.”

His lips twitched, briefly.

“Later, then. When the children aren’t likely to find you larking about in men’s clothing.”

“Excellent point. Now show me how to use this thing.”

Jacques talked her through the actions of actually firing, directing her to aim at the bottles along the wall. Her first shot missed entirely, the pellet bouncing into the water. Which gave her all the more determination to try.

“Keep both eyes open.” He warned, and her next shot grew closer, hitting the stone and bouncing into the grass. She frowned.

“Square yourself. Ground your feet like you’re a statue.”

“And I suppose I will have time to do all of that while I’m being attacked?”

He laughed.

“Baby steps, Ms. Caliban. By the time you’ve finished practicing, you’ll feel as if you could do it in your sleep. I want to ensure you’re safe and able to protect yourself, in case anything should arise.”

He stepped forward and without hesitation, settled his hands at her shoulders. She tensed immediately, but he pushed gently to lower them and adjust her aim.

“Deep breath. When you exhale, fire. And make sure you line up to your target.” His hands touched her sides, twisting her just slightly. She certainly hoped he hadn’t heard her breath hitch. She swallowed thickly, trying to focus entirely on the target of the bottle and not of the handsome gentleman with his hands at her waist.

Her third shot hit it’s mark, and the bottle shot off the wall and into the water. She let out a noise of delight, jumping in place for the sheer surprise that she’d actually landed her target. Jacques grinned at her.

“Now do it again.”

So she did.

As the hour progressed, her aim did as well. Jacques gave her tips here or there on how to adjust, sometimes with his hands (which made her lose focus all the more, in truth). First with her right hand, then with her left, with his promise that he wanted her to be able to use either should the other be tied up or otherwise unusable. Her shoulders ached by the end of it, but she was able to knock five bottles off the wall in a row with each hand before he seemed satisfied.

When she returned the weapon to him and helped him pick up any stray bottles, she tried not to consider that evening. Hand to hand combat training would surely be more intimate, and how was she going to focus with him that close? She was thankful he hadn’t already picked up on her internal debate as they walked the hill back to the house in companionable silence.

Dinner was the normal fare, the children divulging tales of the various ways they’d spent their day. Olivia listened with full attention, encouraging them at just the right places. After dinner saw her in a game of chess against Klaus, who edged out a win only because she had begun to let her mind wander – namely, on later that evening. She was practically abuzz with a renewed energy by the time the children said their goodnights, and Olivia made a show of going to her own room.

She was met with a neatly folded pile of clothes on her bed, her spyglass resting on top. Upon investigation she found Jacques had come through on his promise of finding her something to wear. She hadn’t seen him in this particular outfit, though likely because they were older. Smaller. Likely to fit her without making it seem she wore the entire fabric factory.

It felt odd to pull the trousers on, and she had to use a belt to keep the waist snug about her. The shirt was easier, though she found the buttons were backwards from what she was used to. She fumbled with them, and found the shirt too was clearly too large for her small frame. But it gave her room to move, she found, testing it by swinging her arms this way and that. She must have looked utterly ridiculous, but found the clothes almost comfy. Far better than her dresses.

She pulled on her own shoes, the simplest ones she had, and tucked the hem of her trousers into them to keep herself from tripping on them. Perhaps she’d ask Jacques if he wouldn’t mind her hemming them just a touch. Maybe take in the shirt on the sides so it didn’t billow nearly so much and risk getting snagged on something. For now, however, she supposed it would do.

There was a soft knock at her door; she wasn’t surprised to find Jacques on the other side.

“You look . . . different.” He mused and Olivia bit her lip.

“They are comfy, as Kit said.”

“They’re yours, so wear them as you need or please.” He replied in kind. “I’ve shoved some of the furniture around in a disused study on the next floor. It should do us just fine to practice.”

“Lead the way, then.”

He led her up another flight of steps to the third floor. In the tour he had said his bedroom was here, as well as a few other extra rooms she supposed had once belonged to his siblings or parents. She didn’t pry. The room he entered was well lit by candles and oil lamps, with the desk and chairs as well as a few other random bits of furniture shoved toward the outer edges of the room. It left a clear space in the center, plenty of room to move around with.

“I’ll be able to show you basic things, as I have been.” Jacques murmured. “Kit is more adept at fighting close quarters, especially when against larger opponents.”

“I can’t imagine going up against Esme or Olaf to be much of a fight.” Olivia remarked.

“Esme can hold her own. I’ve seen it. Olaf – he’s unpredictable at best. Will fight dirty in every way he knows how. They both have plenty of people on their side who do know how to fight, and well. If you can’t get them down with the weapon I showed you earlier, these lessons might come in handy.”

“Lessons? As in plural?”

“Practice makes perfect. And until we have the chance to strike, I feel like using every opportunity to prepare my partner for her first real VFD mission will be a far better use of our time.”

He moved to stand just off center of the room, stretching his limbs lightly. Olivia joined just opposite of him.

“When it comes to fighting this intimately with another opponent, it helps to know the weakness. Most have the same ones you can use to your advantage, thanks to general anatomy.”

“I read a book once about pressure points and their use in relieving pain. I imagine they can also be used to create the pain.” Olivia said, and Jacques nodded. He gestured on himself to a few places, and Olivia committed the spots to memory. Her heart was racing, adrenaline already coursing through her in her almost excitement to learn. She was never much for violence, but knowing how to defend herself, her partner, and the children would likely come in handy at one point or another.

“Evasion tactics will be good for you. Keeping distance between yourself and your opponent. Don’t give them time to get close enough to strike you, and you can often tire them out that way and volley an attack when they’re winded. If it isn’t working or you’re unable to, there’s a few simple moves that will get you out of a jam.” He continued, and Olivia furrowed her brows.

“You’re not going to make me attack you, are you?”

“How else did you expect to learn?”

“I don’t want to hurt you!”

Jacques looked amused.

“You won’t. I promise. Nor will I hurt you. We used to hold sessions like this regularly, Kit, Beatrice, and I. Sometimes Lemony would sit in. But it’s the best way to learn, by doing. And I won’t rest until I’m satisfied you could put a man my size on his back and disable him.”

“I don’t think – I can’t imagine -.” Olivia tried, and frowned harder. “Are you quite insane, Jacques Snicket?”

“Perhaps it was a bit of an exaggeration. If it helps at all, you can pretend I’m Olaf.”

“I would very well rather not.”

Despite her hesitation, Olivia was an attentive student. She followed every move Jacques made, committed to repeating it flawlessly herself. She could, of course, until he made her try it against him. She found it difficult to strike him, her hesitation costing her precious moments that he chided her for each time. By the time she landed a decent blow, it was out of sheer frustration in herself.

Repetition seemed to be his favorite – Olivia followed through with evasions and attacks and defends until her arms and legs were aching and sore. Her face flushed red, the room had grown quite warm – thankfully the clothing she had been given was lighter than women’s, less stuffy, and made it easier to breathe.

“You’re not committed enough in your attacks, Olivia.” He warned. Not scolding, but the tone of his voice suggested if it were a real situation, she’d be losing. “Harder.”

“But –“

“ _Do it_.”

Her frustration again mounting, her blow landed squarely in the center of his chest. He took a step back, which she hadn’t been expecting, and the momentum of her throw sent her sailing against him. Both of them were sweaty and red faced, and by the time she realized he was holding her she was red for another reason entirely. Her attempts to take a step back were thwarted by a corner of the rug that had come up during their sparring – she latched onto Jacques to keep from falling over, but his own footing had not been steady after her glancing blow and they both hit the floor with a resounding thud – Olivia half on top of him.

“You know,” He began conversationally after there was a moment in which she processed exactly what had just happened. Her head was against his chest, her legs tangled with his, and suddenly things were very intimate compared to before. “when I said to put me on my back, I didn’t quite mean this way. But whatever works, I suppose.”

She nearly choked on air, lifting her head to meet his gaze, her hands planted against his chest. She drew them away as if she’d touched fire, though he held her gaze with an arched brow and a puzzled expression. Olivia felt her face darken, and hoped he only saw it as her being red faced and spent from the practice. If he noticed, he said nothing.

“Sorry.” She muttered, and repeated it several times over as she scrambled off him and to her feet. She offered out a hand to pull him up, but he was already halfway to his feet with soft laughter.

“Don’t be. You did well.”

“I mean, about the floor. The rug. I just – sorry.” She huffed, clearly frustrated and flustered and feeling all out of sorts with her heart racing as if she’d just run a mile. He gave one of those charming grins of his and Olivia felt some of her tension immediately leave.

“I suppose we can end it there for the night. You’re probably exhausted and I don’t want to put too much on you at once.”

Exhausted was putting it mildly – she was certain her limbs would be jelly by the morning.

“We can continue them nightly, if you’re feeling up to it. But you’re taking to things like a duck to water. I’m impressed.”

She smiled faintly at his praise. “I’ve always been very adaptable.”

“Clearly.” He agreed. “I’m sure Gustav is still awake if you’d like tea brought up, or something to eat.”

“I think just a hot bath.” She murmured and he nodded.

“Until tomorrow, then.”

“Until tomorrow.”

She left and managed to make it down the stairs and to her room before her legs started shaking. The adrenaline wearing off, a sudden sweeping exhaustion entered her and threatened to drag her down. Even still, Olivia pushed through it long enough to stumble to the adjoining washroom to her bedroom. She turned the taps as hot as they would go, shed her clothing, and sank into the clawfoot tub before the water was even halfway.

Uncertain of her abilities to move, she shut the tap off with her foot and sank into the steaming water until it was to her neck. Her muscles ached in a way she had never felt before, alternating between pins and needles and cramps that were soothed by the fire-temperature of the water she had run.

Being a volunteer meant hard work, she had expected, but this was something else. She still found it difficult to imagine fighting Esme in such a scenario, or Olaf. Everything that came to mind was just the notion of taking Esme down by strangling her with the feathers from one of her dresses, or tripping her in those ghastly shoes.

The imagine made Olivia giggle slightly, and she sank more into the water with a soft sigh.

Maybe if they were lucky, Esme would trip down the stairs and take Olaf out with her.

She closed her eyes, letting out a breath that created bubbles across the surface.

If only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some filler! I couldn't jump straight into the action, could I? So have some Jacques/Olivia awkward flirting/fighting whatever you want to call it in this chapter. Also, I based the Snicket estate off an actually place - Brocket Hall. It's a beautiful place and I suggest looking it up for some serious aesthetic vibes. I've added photos of it to the pinterest board for this fic as well.
> 
> Let me know your thoughts as always, and thank you so much for your readership!


	8. chapter eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a volunteer is never easy.

 

“Are we certain their lands aren’t patrolled?” Olivia murmured, her horse pawing at the earth as if he too felt her uncertainty. She had only met him the hour previous – Watson, to Jacques’ horse Holmes. They were already well bonded, and he was the one who had been kindest to a new rider like Olivia during her earlier lesson on riding in the week.

“Very. Esme isn’t the type, in truth.” Jacques replied as she slid from the horse and he took hold of the reins, knotting them to a nearby tree. “Are you certain you’re up to this?”

Their chance had come. Whether some underlying notion had caused it or she was simply being polite (fat chance), Esme had extended a dinner invitation to Jacques the night previous via a letter. Seeing it as the perfect distraction had been the easy part – convincing him to let her play her part had been a bit harder, but it was far too late to turn back now.

“Yes.” She spoke firmly, adjusting the wrinkles on her shirt (which she had mended and taken in the seams of so the fabric was less likely to billow and get caught on errant things). “I’m more worried about you. Surely you won’t walk in there unarmed, to dinner or not.”

“I am very much armed. My goal is to merely keep eyes on Olaf and Esme so they don’t detect you. Otherwise they’ll be too busy with their other dinner guests, I’m sure.”

Olivia nodded, trying to focus her attention on the task ahead. Jacques put a hand on her arm and she looked up at him.

“You’ll be brilliant.”

Olivia smiled.

“I hope so. Just nervous.”

“I’ve got our back.”

Again, she nodded. That statement alone gave her courage. He opened his mouth as I to say something else, but thought better of it. He snapped his mouth close and mounted Holmes again. He gave her another one of those warm, assuring smiles before he urged Holmes back into the treeline to approach the house from the front. Her stomach did a turn and she watched until he disappeared. The forest that surrounded a good portion of the Squalor estate did wonders for hiding out, though it had been tricky to navigate at first.

“I’ll be back soon.” She murmured to Watson for no other real reason than to assure herself. He snorted as if to encourage her. Olivia patted his nose fondly, and turned her attention back to the house ahead.

With daylight fading, Olivia hurried across the green lawn on the side of the house with no light in the windows. She was grateful for her choice of trousers – she couldn’t dart to and fro among her normal frocks. The task would be impossible – or moreso than it already seemed. Pressing herself against the brick exterior, she crept to the nearest dark window.

Cautiously peering inside to the best of her abilities, she found the room completely dark; or close to it. She could make out shapes of furniture of a library beyond. She checked the latch – locked, naturally. Brows knitting together, she drew a pin from her hair to pick the lock. Another skill Jacques had taught her in her crash course to becoming a volunteer. Her hands trembled, finding the task increasingly difficult in the fading light. She internally cheered when she felt it give way and was able to shove the window open.

Using the ledge, Olivia pulled herself into the dim room and dropped to the floor. A plume of dust went up around her and she covered her nose and mouth to keep from coughing. Clearly the library was very disused, which made her heart silently lament all the neglected books around her. But there wasn’t time. Keeping still to let her eyes adjust to the dark and listen to anyone who might have detected heard, she was relieved when no footsteps came charming down the hall. Only voices, very faint and muffled except a shrill laugh that made her grimace at the tone.

Esme.

Creeping to the door, she cracked it just enough to see into the hall. No one. Jacques had mentioned the documents they needed were likely somewhere safe – a bedroom, she had guessed. She hoped. She wouldn’t have much time to search. Satisfied no one was immediately coming to catch her, she slipped into the hall and up the stairs.

They hadn’t had any indication as to the layout of Esme’s estate other than Jacques’ vague memories. Logically, one would assume the main bedroom to be behind the elegantly carved double wooden doors at the end of the hall.

Imagine Olivia’s surprise however, when she peered in and instead spotted a lavish washroom instead with a massive clawfoot tub dominating the center of the room. An even larger vanity beyond. Definitely not a bedroom. Brows knitted together in thought, she returned to the hall and began the terrifying task of peering through doors in hopes one might yield her prize.

If she even knew what to look for.

In all honest truth, Olivia didn’t know what sort of evidence she could yield. Hopefully enough to lock Olaf (and Esme) away for a very long time, but the fact of the matter still remained that Esme and her money had a tight grip on many people in the city, likely ones very important who could easily refute evidence or charges. That would be a whole other problem, one she was trying not to consider. Being in the middle of breaking and entering was not a time to let the mind wander.

The first door she tried was a small bedroom, narrow and well kept and judging by the pinstriped suit hanging up against the wardrobe, Jerome’s bedroom. It wasn’t surprising to find he and Esme did not share a bedroom. It was pitying. Almost. As far as Olivia knew, Jerome was entirely innocent and separated from his wife’s indecencies.

The second room was a closet, full of ridiculous fabrics and dresses that she didn’t bother to stop and inspect. It connected to the room just next door – another closet, much to Olivia’s frustration. She would’ve stomped her foot if she wasn’t terrified someone would hear. The voices downstairs still carried up here in snippets; she could clearly hear Esme’s shrill tone and the muffled sounds of a few others she couldn’t recognize. Jacques would be among them.

On the fourth try, she was relieved to find a disgustingly pink bedroom.

It was all elegant frills and lace and immaculately clean, with a large four poster bed against the far wall. It was well lit, vibrantly so, with a door she could only assume connected to the two closet rooms. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she crept further into the offending room with a grimace and a glance; nothing, not even a hair out of place. It was almost disturbing.

A small dresser against the wall was her first target. She pulled open the drawers carefully and rummaged through underthings she didn’t even recognize, wincing as she did so. Part of it felt so wrong, but the voice in the back of her mind told her clearly this needed to be done. That she was doing the right thing. She repeated it silently to herself as she searched the remaining two drawers.

Nothing.

The nightstands on either side of the bed also yielded nothing of note or value; clearly most of the furniture was for decoration and not actual use. She even tried peering behind some of the paintings in the room, considering a hidden safe or the like – nothing.

Her frustration was beginning to mount again. What if it was all for nothing? What if they couldn’t find anything? Or worse---

Footsteps sounded sharply in the hall and her heart slammed into her ribs. She was going to be caught. She was going to be kidnapped and Jacques too and everything was going to ruin, the children would be alone. Swallowing back her panic as best as she could, Olivia looked quickly for a place to hide in case the footsteps and their owner came into the room. Nothing looked acceptable in her immediate range, and in her panic she resorted to sliding quickly beneath the bed, hoping the dust ruffle around it’s edges would help keep her hidden.

Olivia held her breath. And waited.

The footsteps stopped outside the room and the door opened. She bit back a gasp as she peered out – from her eye level she could only see the swish of a patterned skirt and the flash of a terribly high heel and was that – an ankle tattoo? Olivia’s nose wrinkled in confusion, but she held rigid beneath the bed as the skirted one moved to the dresser to root around a moment, clearly looking for something. Soft muttering told her it was indeed Esme, though it only brought further confusion as to why she had abandoned her guests. Olivia prayed to whatever deity was listening for her to leave.

The shuffling about stopped suddenly, and eerie quiet befalling the room. Had Esme noticed something out of place? Was she about to be caught? Olivia didn’t dare breathe.

“I am going to kill him for moving my things around.” Esme muttered darkly, and moved to the nightstand. She dragged open the door harshly with a scraping noise, mumbled an ‘aha’ before slamming it back shut.

Olivia didn’t move again until she heard Esme’s footsteps retreat down the hall and heard her disgusting laughter pealing from downstairs once more. She relaxed immediately, relieved. She needed to get out of the house, even if she hadn’t found anything. She didn’t have any more time.

As she tried to shuffle from beneath the bed, her foot kicked something that rattled. She hadn’t spotted anything in the dim lighting beneath the bed, and frowned when she nudged it again and the same sound occurred. Twisting to reach blindly for the noise, her fingers found the sharp edge of a box. Curious, she pulled it from beneath the bed with her and flipped it open.

Newspaper and file clippings were on top, scattered in no order. All of them were mentions of fire, and her heart began to race far more than before. She set the clippings aside to reveal photographs, some of them slightly burnt at the edges. She studied them, frowning when she realized they were photos of a fire, of the aftermath. Photography wasn’t the best artform at the time so the photos were hard to make out, but it was clear there were darker stains on what was left of the flooring. Accelerants, her mind provided.  Another photo showed the remains of a sitting room and half a table, three wine glasses still teetering onto the edge. A strand of broken pearls. Her heart leapt into her throat when she turned to the next photo and saw the twisted and charred remains of a house that was familiar, if only from the newspapers two years ago.

The Baudelaire home.

The photo after it showed the Quagmire estate remains. She felt sick.

A few of the photos at the bottom of the stack were burned at the corners, but still legible. Most of them of a group of young men and women that she didn’t recognize at first. Inspecting it closer she spotted a very, very young Olaf with his arm strung around what could only be Kit Snicket. Her brows furrowed – yes, there was Jacques next to her and what must have been his brother, Lemony holding hands with a beautiful dark haired woman, who’s other arm was slung around a handsome man’s. On the other side a couple sat together with matching grins she recognized from the Quagmire’s faces.

There were a few others she didn’t recognize at all, and in slight shock she glanced back down into the box. Inside were a few tarnished metal pieces she couldn’t make out. Those had made the rattling noise when she’d accidentally kicked the box. There were other small items, folded bits of paper but she didn’t have time. Not if she wanted to make it out of the house without being caught.

Quickly, she stuffed the things back into the box and latched the lid. Clutching it to her chest so the pieces inside didn’t rattle, she straightened the rug back out and stood, moving to the door. No footsteps beyond. Good.

If she could make it back to the open window in the library, she’d be good as gold.

The trek back down the hall was quiet; music had started playing below. Loudly. Something awful and not classical at all that made her ears strain to listen for voices or other signs of life. Ushering herself quickly and quietly down the stairs, she made for the library door.

A hand caught her sharply by the wrist.

She whirled, coming face to face with a man – or a woman? She couldn’t quite tell. Either way they were leering over her like a menace, snapping to someone unseen.

“Got her!”

“I think not.” Olivia said sharply, before she twisted herself around as Jacques had taught her, effectively forcing their arm to twist at an unnatural angle. They cried out in pain and released Olivia immediately. She dove for the window.

Clutching the box of evidence, she crammed through the open window and hit the ground unkindly. It was dark out, the only light spilling from the house windows here or there. She took off in what she hoped was the direction she had left Watson in.

She was vaguely aware of yelling behind her, but Olivia only had eyes for the treeline – rather, the shape of it in the darkness. Her legs ached, her heart felt like it might jump out of her chest at any moment. Somewhere behind her, several dogs barked furiously. Her stomach sank.

Despite her utter terror at the fact she was being chased, Olivia felt the rush of adrenaline and excitement – it certainly couldn’t compare to buying and selling books. Over her own heartbeat she heard a horse snort somewhere close by; she veered to the right and nearly slammed into Watson in the darkness.

“Time for a swift exit.” She murmured, fumbling with the knots of the horse. She tucked the box of evidence into the saddlebag and climbed on, urging Watson forward. As if aware of the impending urgency, he immediately broke off into a fast pace that had Olivia clinging to him for dear life. Riding lessons had not covered this aspect.

Smaller branches scraped against her arms, ripping through the fabric of her shirt. Beneath her, Watson moved with speed and pure muscle, clearly sending the danger beyond them. He leapt across a narrow creek and through another small grove. She remembered reading hunting dogs losing trails over water – she pulled hard on the reins to signal Watson left sharply. They zigzagged across the creek three more times before she turned back toward the direction (she thought) of the Snicket estate.

The trees grew thicker together, the underbrush hard to navigate between her own eyes and Watson’s steps – until he dipped suddenly and sharply. She hugged his torso with her legs and clung to the reins but they were both already going down. She threw herself to the side to avoid Watson rolling on top of her, and he came to a halt against her on the ground, which had rushed up swiftly to meet them both.

The world spun and her head ached – she could feel a knot forming already. Wheezing, she tried to breathe air back into her lungs. From above it had been impossible to see the steep embankment but from here it was more than clear. Beside her Watson stood, shaking off the incident with a few steps. He was favoring his back right leg and Olivia’s gut sank – he wouldn’t make it far, much less with a rider. Watson realized it as well, for her sank slowly back to the ground. Olivia sat up and bit back a cry as her side radiated painfully. Breathing through the pain she tried to stand, but her ankle gave way immediately and she crashed painfully back to the ground.

Double drat.

She could still hear the dogs barking in the distance, but not far. She gathered herself and grabbed Watson’s lead, half scuffling and half crawling to press against the embankment. If it had been invisible from the top, hopefully they would be too. She curled tight against Watson’s side in the darkness, a chill already creeping in.

The barking never grew closer but pounding hooves sounded nearly just above their heads.

She held her breath until she was certain they had disappeared, and even then counted past ten minutes before she dared even move. Night settled in more permanently, the woods coming alive around her with frogs and other bugs calling out to one another, overwhelming the silence. She felt trapped, useless, her ankle and head throbbing painfully when she tried to move. Wincing, Olivia tried to assure herself that Jacques was out there somewhere.

Her partner.

Partners didn’t leave each other behind. Right?

Using an already ripped sleeve of her shirt, she carefully shred it into a long strip and used it to bind her ankle as best as she could in the dark. Hopefully it would keep the swelling down. She couldn’t feel anything broken, likely just bruised and twisted like the rest of her injuries that seemed to throb in unison. She likely could have fashioned a cane from a branch and limped toward Hawthorn, if she knew the direction. The chase had her turned around.

Not to mention it would mean leaving Watson, which she wasn’t willing to do.

Her fingers stroked his fur, snuggling closer to him for warmth. He tucked his head against her shoulder for a moment in acknowledgement.

She wished she had some sort of light to investigate the box and it’s contents further, especially now given the situation it had landed her in. Though she thought perhaps it would be better to focus on surviving the evening; she wasn’t sure if Jacques would come, or when. If he didn’t she would force herself to get up at first light and try to find her way back once she could see where she was going, and not risk another fall. Perhaps after both she and Watson rested, they would be able to make the slow journey back.

Olivia melted against the horse’s warmth, listening to the sounds of the forest around them and clutching her box of evidence lest it fall prey to something horrible. Ridiculous, she knew, but it made her feel all the more better to have it physically in her arms, pressed between her and Watson.

She shivered briefly, wincing when the motion caused her side to shout it’s protest in pain.

It would be a very, very long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I split this chapter between this post and the next chapter. I wasn't originally going to, but it was turning out too long and I didn't want to rush things, which is why this ends where it does. As always, let me know your thoughts!
> 
> Also, you're all getting aesthetic posts at the beginning of each chapter from now on. I need to go back and add ones for the other chapters, but know they are coming!


	9. chapter nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to change.

__

 

_Voices in the hall startled her awake. Little Olivia frowned at the strange voices, accompanied by the baritone voice of her father. No one ever came to visit that late. Curious, Olivia shoved her glasses onto her face with fumbling fingers and climbed slowly out of bed. Avoiding the creaking floorboard near the door, she stuck her face to the crack where hall light was spilling out. She could just see into the parlor of the flat beyond._

_“---it isn’t necessary.” Her father was saying._

_“We need all the members we can get, don’t you see?” A strange male voice spoke. She couldn’t see him, his figure obscured by the doorframe._

_“Miranda and her daughter are already part of your organization. I won’t let Olivia be dragged into this as well. I won’t risk her safety.” Olivia frowned at her name. Confusion and her own curiosity kept her pressed to the wall near the doorway, watching. Listening._

_“She’s clever and brilliant. She’d be perfect.”_

_“No.” That was her mother, in a tone Olivia only heard when she got into trouble, which was a rare time. It was firm. Demanding. Daring the other party to talk back (Olivia never did)._

_“The other side is gathering force. I’m afraid if we don’t gain more volunteers we’re risking dangerous things happening. There’s no telling what will happen.”_

_“There is.” Her father said sharply. “I find it interesting every family dragged into this venture his usually burnt out of house and home. Fortunes gone. Whether they like it, or not. Come after us, or my daughter, again, and I will be certain you will learn there are far worse things in this world than men with matches.”_

_A chair scraped along the wooden floor, footsteps headed toward the doorway. Olivia stepped back quickly, worried she’d be caught. She crept back across her room and into her bed as the door slammed. There was a long moment of silence, before her mother’s voice carried across the hall._

_“----who does Charles Snicket think he is? Coming after us like that and threatening us, threatening Olivia. . . .”_

“. . .Olivia – Olivia!”

She jerked awake, alarmed at voices and prepared to fight. There was a lantern in her face and she blinked against the harsh light compared to the surrounding darkness. Had she fallen asleep? And that dream – a figment? Or memory? Her mind was racing in time with her beating heart, both threatening to leap from their place and onto the forest floor. What a stupid thing, to let her guard down. Instinctively she curled the box tighter to her chest, but as her eyes adjusted she recognized the face before hers with a flood of warmth.

“Jacques.” She breathed, and his smile was tense, worry creasing his brow.

“Tell me where you’re hurt.”

“My ankle, mostly. Everything else I can manage.” She murmured. “And Watson. His leg. . . .” She trailed off, moving to sit up further against the horse, who had not moved.

“I’ll tend him.” Gustav said from somewhere to her left and a second lantern came to life. Jacques’ gaze never wavered and his hand drifted to her ankle. Olivia’s earlier fears had been unfounded; how foolish she’d been to think he wouldn’t try and find her. She’s grateful for it, honestly. She wasn’t convinced she could have made the trek back on her own even in the morning.

“I ripped your shirt.” She lamented, quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“The least of my worries.” He replied curtly, testing the hold of her makeshift bandage. His gaze snapped back up to her face sharply, and Olivia couldn’t remember how to blink as he held her gaze until her eyes began to water.

“I was worried.” He admitted softly as she heard Gustav’s footsteps shuffle about on the other side of the horse. Hopefully Watson would be all right. She felt a sense of guilt in that she hadn’t spotted the steep drop; she wouldn’t forgive herself if he was injured beyond help. She was certain she would live, and would beg Jacques to spare Watson. It hadn’t been his fault, after all. Perhaps she was just a rubbish volunteer, unable to even make it through her first real test without endangering and injuring herself.

“Don’t. I got the information, I think. It looked important, so I brought the entire box but I can’t show you in this terrible lighting. There are photos and articles and something else –”

Olivia was cut off politely as Jacques lips suddenly found her own.

Surprise and shock faded into a pleasant warmth. It was soft and gentle as she had once imagined kissing him would be – not at all bad for a very first kiss, she was embarrassed to admit. It was difficult not to reach out on instinct to him. How long has she waited for this? Several times he had looked so close to it, and yet now seemed the completely worst time to act on such an idea. Not that she minded, truly, but the forest ground was uncomfortable and she was desperately trying to understand how on earth such a man could ever fall for a quiet little mouse like her.

Still, the kiss was fleeting, and Olivia blinked rapidly when he broke away. She was certain his expression looked even more pained.

“I’m sorry.” He began. “I shouldn’t--.”

Olivia, emboldened, cut him off with another kiss. Brief, sweet, and the rush of adrenaline it gave her felt very much the same as it had during the chase the night before. Jacques looked momentarily stunned, but the worry in his expression never faltered for a moment. Her cheeks felt aflame as she realized what she’d done. Oh, stars. She’d kissed her employer. But he had kissed her first, logically. Wasn’t one supposed to return the favor if one liked the person? What if it only made things more complicated? Had she misread the entire situation beyond repair? Maybe he’d meant to kiss her cheek and had missed – but no, that was utterly ridiculous to consider.

“Gustav, do you need me to send someone?” He asked suddenly, glancing over Olivia to where Gustav was already tending to Watson. Her cheeks turned darker, cutting off her endless train of thought.

“I’m just going to stabilize his leg. It’s just a sprain. We’ll be just behind you, sir.”

Jacques nodded, and offered out the lantern to the relieved Olivia. Confused, she took it and balanced it atop the box she still clung to until her fingers were numb. Before she could ask why, Jacques had hooked his arms beneath her and swept her from the forest floor. She made a noise of protest, nearly dropping both the lantern and the box of evidence from her arms.

“You can’t be serious.” She frowned.

“What else would you suggest?”

“Surely you didn’t walk all this way?”

“Of course. We were worried horses might ruin any trail or worse, step on you.”

“You can’t carry me the whole way back!”

“I can and I will, Olivia Caliban.”

Olivia fell quiet, sucking up the warmth from the lantern and from him. Her lips still tingled and the butterflies had started up their familiar dance within her belly. They had kissed. _Stars_.

Now off the ground, Olivia felt the chill settle in again; she curled tighter against her partner and rescuer.

She wasn’t sure when she dozed off again, exhaustion blanketing her, but when she next opened her eyes they were crossing the lawn of the Snicket estate. Bleary eyed, she let her head fall against Jacques’ chest and readjusted her grip on the box and lantern, assuring they were still safe. They were. The soft motion of being carried nearly lulled her back to sleep again.

“They waited up for you.” Jacques said quietly. “They worried.”

Olivia stifled a small yawn, frowning as she tried to appear far more alert than she felt.

“I’m sorry for frightening you all.” She murmured. “What will we tell them if they ask what happened?”

Jacques’ eyebrows knitted together.

“I haven’t sorted that out yet. For now I’ll make an excuse to put off any reasoning until you’re rested and healed.”

Olivia’s frown deepened, certain the children would not accept deference as an answer. There was no time to come up with anything else however, as the door flew open before she could offer any idea. Light spilled out onto the yard, blocked only by Isadora and Violet rushing through the open doorway.

“Olivia!” Isadora cried loudly, taking the lantern quickly. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She assured gently. “Just tripped.” It was lame at best, and even in the dim light she could see both the girls’ faces twist in disbelief.

“In men’s trousers?” Violet asked slowly.

“She needs rest. Questions in the morning. It’s late.” Jacques said and while the girls looked ready to protest immediately, the look he gave them signaled his finality on the subject. They met their confused siblings in the entry hall, hesitated, but eventually gave way to head upstairs. Jacques followed without a word, carrying Olivia to a bedroom not her own. Judging by the interior, she realized, it was his.

He finally put her down on the edge of the bed closest to the fireplace, which was lit and blazing. She was grateful for the warmth, soaking it up like a starving man for food. Jacques wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and dragged a stool over to prop her foot on.

“You fuss like a mother hen.” She remarked, bemused.

“You could have died out there.” He said, quieter. “If Esme and Olaf’s men hadn’t gotten you, something in that forest would’ve. Including the weather.”

“The perils of being a volunteer.”

He frowned at her for a lingering moment, choosing not to respond. Instead he began to unwrap her ankle – Olivia winced when his fingers touched the sensitive skin. There was something dangerously intimate about it – coupled with his reaction in the wood, Olivia felt everything with a keen awareness.

“Nothing looks broken.” He murmured. “You need ice to sooth the swelling, and an actual bandage.”

“I’ll be fine.” She insisted gently.

“Olivia.” He warned in a tone she had never heard from him. It promptly silenced her. He straightened and went off to fetch the aforementioned ice. She didn’t dare move, using the chance to inspect the room more properly.

It was clearly well lived in, despite the short time in the country estate. On the fireplace mantle were various devices and things from far away that without closer inspection, she couldn’t tell what they were exactly (her glasses were in her room, where she’d left them in fear of breaking them). The walls were dark, but the room had a warm glow about it, from the fireplace to the elegant sconces along the walls. Heavy curtains were drawn back from the windows to offer a view beyond, though it was nothing but darkness beyond the glass that time of night. The nightstands were stacked with books, Jacques spyglass resting atop a small stack on the left side of the bed. A wardrobe stood closed on the other side, near doors that led to what she could assume was a closet and a wash room.

Her gaze went back to the spyglass, and a odd feeling settled in her stomach. Brows knitted together, she glanced down to the box in her lap and lifted the lid. The little metal bits were still there on top of the photos and the letters, still charred beyond recognition. Mostly. She picked one of the larger pieces up, glancing at Jacques’ spyglass for confirmation. Rubbing some of the ash off revealed a string of symbols she had come to recognize from the spyglass code. Another puzzle.

When Jacques returned, she had set aside the box again. Her head ached more than she cared to admit, and trying to sort out the letters would be impossible without her focus in check. He sat a tray down beside her, and she spotted the icepack he had mentioned as well as a cup of tea, and a small plate of fruit.

“In my defense, Gustav sent the tea and fruit.” He said before she could open her mouth.

“Will Waston be okay?”

“Just a sprain. He’ll be resting a few days, like you.”

“But the children-“

“Are going to be fine.” He replied. Her stomach rumbled it’s agreement of the fruit in the silence, earning her another look that she couldn’t argue with. As Jacques settled her ankle with an actual bandage and the ice, she dug into the fruit and tea. Her gaze followed him as he tended to her, stoked the fire, and finally came to sit on her other side. It took her a moment to work up the courage to look at him properly and when she did, he met her gaze.

“What now?” She asked, timidly.

“Eventually the children will want answers.”

“Perhaps its best we tell them the truth.” Olivia ventured. “So many secrets governed their lives already – they shouldn’t have to deal with them with us. They deserve to know.”

“And how do you tell six orphans they are indeed orphans because an organization strange and unknown to them fractured and it cost their parents their lives by the hands of an evil man?”

“Well, perhaps not like that. But I’m sure we might come up with something with a bit more tact.”

He hummed in agreement.

Neither seemed to be brave enough to speak about the kiss in the woods, the veritable elephant in the room. She wondered idly if he regretted it – a spur of the moment action, perhaps. But he hadn’t exactly rejected her kiss the moment after. Did he feel that way about a poor governess, or had she imagined it all? Maybe it was a dream and she was still asleep in the wood.

“You should rest.” He broke the silence.

“Dare I ask if you will allow me to walk back to my room?”

“Nonsense. You’re already in bed here.”

“Yes, your bed.”

“I’ll take the chair.”

“You will do no such thing.” She frowned. “Surely if you’re stubborn enough about my staying you’ll accept I’m stubborn enough not to let you sleep on a chair. Shall we, ah, share?”

His lips twitched.

“I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Olivia threw him her best ‘don’t argue’ look as she bent to set the tray on the floor. When she straightened, he caught her arm and their gazes met again. She felt the tension of earlier return sharply in the center of her gut.

“I realise I was remiss earlier, crossing a boundary in my concern for your safety.” He started gently. “I never gained permission. I would very much like to request your permission to do it again, Ms. Olivia Caliban.”

“I – I mean – yes, of course, you don’t need to ask -.”

Her words were lost as he leaned in to kiss her again. The warmth from the blanket and the fire was nothing to the warmth from his kiss, the fire seemingly lit in the pit of her stomach. Her hands moved of their own accord, fingers curling gently into his lapels as his lips moved against her own. It was far softer than before – Olivia felt like she might melt where she sat. His hand rested against her waist for a moment, the other brushing hair from her face (offhandedly, she knew she must look a right mess with twigs and leaves and scratches and the like). It felt like a dizzying amount of time and in the end when he drew away, she was nearly out of breath.

“Stars.” She said before she could stop it from slipping out. She felt lighter than air, the world around them fading to a dull echo. He gave a disarming grin, one that melted her insides even more.

“Alright?” He asked, the earlier concern coming back to his tone. Her fingers found his.

“More than, I think.” She smiled, almost shyly. No one in the world had even shown her such attention, such fondness. It was almost overwhelming to think of, to consider, her mind already racing with the possibilities and the complications.

“I find myself drawn to you, Olivia Caliban.” He murmured. “I worried I wouldn’t get the chance to kiss you when you didn’t return, to tell you such.”

“Our story isn’t over yet.” Olivia remarked kindly. “All our enemies are not yet defeated.”

“And when they are? What then?”

“Whatever comes out way?”

He wrapped her gently in a hug and Olivia let him envelop her entirely. She pressed her face into his chest, committing his very scent to her memory. She felt utterly thrilled, her heart beating fast to know Jacques Snicket _cared_ for her. He had said so.

“You really should rest.” He rumbled shortly after.

“You too. We have important things to sort out tomorrow.” She reached to the box she had set aside. Jacques took them and regretfully left her side long enough to stow it away in a drawer in the wardrobe.

“Tomorrow. The temptation is great but -.”

“We’ve been through enough.” Olivia agreed quietly. “It can wait until morning.”

“Hopefully it will give us answers.”

She nodded, stifling another yawn. He offered her a hand to help her stand. He turned down the blankets and with only slight hesitation, Olivia crawled in. Her mother would be appalled, her kissing and climbing into a man’s bed. Jacques was a gentleman though and she trusted him explicably. It wasn’t like she had much of a reputation to ruin if it got out – and she couldn’t fathom it would.

Her mother. The dream.

She would tell him tomorrow. Sleep was calling, her mind already shutting down.

When he crawled in, he left a respectable distance between them but both rolled on their sides to face each other. For a moment it was silence except the crackling of the fire and their steady breathing.

“Sleep sweet, Jacques.” She murmured, and saw him smile in the dim light.

“Sleep sweet, Olivia.”

Their hands found each other’s in the space between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I scream, you scream, we all scream because they kissed. <3 Let me know your thoughts!


	10. chapter ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carnations and contemplation.

Olivia stretched, the world coming into focus in a haze of sunlight and warmth. Blinking away the sleep in her eyes, she was met with an unfamiliar bed canopy and room. Her brows knitted together in confusion until her mind caught up with the events of the previous night. Tilting her head, she saw Jacques was still asleep – and facing her.

They’d gravitated toward each other in the night, his hand still loosely curled around her own. She smiled to herself, watching the rise and fall of his chest. It was the first time she had seen him look peaceful, the lines on his face lessened and his expression soft.

Judging by the long shadows the sun was casting, it was late morning. She should have already been up and about and the children – her stomach sank. The children. The matter of telling the truth or creating another lie. Olivia had meant her words the night before, that they deserved to know. She had thought so from the beginning. Still, it was not a decision she could make just on her own.

Her gaze drifted to the box on the nightstand, hopefully the answers to all their problems. Things were never so easy of course, but one could surely hope.

Shifting, she found herself stiff, sore, and in much need of a change of clothes.

Regretfully she climbed out of bed, cautious not to disturb her partner. Her ankle ached slightly less and held her weight for a brief step. With a bit of hobbling, she made it to the door. Ensuring she wouldn’t be bombarded by worried children, she hobbled down the hall to her room without major incident. She began a bath immediately, letting the tap run as she grabbed a change of clothes from the wardrobe. It wouldn’t do her any good to go through the contents of the box on her own again; Jacques clearly had more insight to such evidence than her.

Something on her bed caught her eye – an envelope with her name. She grabbed it and tore it open with careful fingers.

_Dear Ms. Olivia,_

_First, I am glad to find you are uninjured after your mission._

_Second, use the evidence you have found very carefully. Jacques will be eager to bring it to court but by now I’m sure you can guess there are several foxes in the henhouse (here meaning there are bad and evil people among the good). Do not trust the higher powers just yet. I fear you need more, undeniable proof._

_I am searching for this myself and will be in contact should I find anything to help your case, and that of the Baudelaires and Quagmires._

_Be wary, Olivia Caliban. This journey is dangerous and while I believe you strong and capable, I warn you to be cautious in the times ahead. Six children are in need of their kind, clever, and well read governess. Just as one man is in need of a kind, clever, and well read partner by his side._

_Use the information you have now to start to douse the proverbial fires. But be cautious of the sparks that fly when you do._

The note ended there, without a signature.

“Oh, stars!” She gasped sharply, darting as quickly as her ankle would let her to turn off the tap before the bath overflowed, the letter still clutched in her hand. Ruminating over the letter brought a frown and a vague headache. As clever as she prided herself on being, everything was becoming more and more confusing.

The letters, the sudden return of dreams and memories – she thought things would become clearer after stealing the evidence from Esme. Not more clouded.

Soaking in the tub afforded her time to think, but even by the time she had turned into a prune and the water had grown cold, she still had no answers – and even more questions. Her head ached.

She wasn’t certain if Jacques was still asleep or not, which made going straight to fetch the box unthinkable (not to mention he’d fuss over her if he found her up and about, no doubt). But Olivia could not sit idle – or risk running into the children. As terrible as it sounded, she intended to avoid them until she and Jacques had sorted out a solution. Together. As partners (and guardians) did.

Which is how precisely Olivia found herself escaping out the back door and following the small path to the greenhouses.

The humidity hit her the moment she entered. Sweet smelling flowers covered every bench and available surface. Some she recognized and some she didn’t, including the numerous non-flowering planets that were just as populated and scattered. Her fingers traced gently over delicate petals and leaves, all in various stages of growth. She had never been in a green house before. How limited she had been before, Olivia realized as she came across a watering can. Filling it up, she set about tending to the planets. She wasn’t a gardener by any means, but she could manage a watering can. It gave her something to do, at the very least, while she tried to sort out the very complicated web of information she had gathered.

She couldn’t get her mind away from the dream she’d had while in the woods. Charles Snicket, her mother had said. And an organization – surely it was coincidence? Granted, the universe was rarely so lazy. Snickets seemed inherently linked with VFD.  Jacques’ father then? Or grandfather? She’d never gotten a good look at the man who had been in her flat. Had she nearly been recruited as a child? Her parents had stopped it, but her mother had mentioned aunt Miranda and cousin Friday already being in the organization.

Was there a list somewhere with members? It was unnerving to consider. Had she grown up around VFD with knowledge? Like the Baudelaires and Quagmires. The thought made her stomach churn. Her parents had never mentioned it, none of her family had.

And now these letters. She had not an inkling from them, which made her all the more confused. Another member of the organization surely, one very well informed. To be so in the dark with the knowledge that her books would be unable to help her left Olivia in a deep pit of frustration.

“You’re going to drown that row of orchids.”

Nearly sloshing water all down her front in surprise, she looked up to see Gustav in the doorway.

“Sorry,” He added, stepping further into the greenhouse. “I wanted to see how you were feeling.”

“Sore.” Olivia admitted. “But alive and thankful for it. How is Watson?”

“Resting. I’m sure he’d like your company for a visit if you’re feeling up to it later.”

“Of course. Mind if I raid the kitchen for apples?”

“Raid away.” Gustav smiled. “Did you get your letter?”

“Hm?”

“It arrived for you this morning. I didn’t want to disturb you so I left it on your bed.”

“Oh! Yes. I did. Thank you.” She replied, then paused. “Gustav, do you know who’s sending me letters? There’s – ah, there’s no return address on them.”

“I thought you knew, they were always addressed to you.” Gustav frowned. “Are they threatening?”

“No, no.” Olivia covered quickly. “Just – a secret admirer, I think. I was just curious is all.” She tried to shrug it off. Gustav arched a brow as if he didn’t quite believe her, and Olivia scrambled to change the subject as she continued down the bench to water an array of lilies. “So how long have you been in the organization?”

Thankfully, Gustav took the not-so-subtle change of conversation.

“Several years. My parents were recruited so I knew some things, and so when they came to take me from my bed I expected it in the end.”

Olivia frowned.

“Take you from your bed?”

“It’s the traditional way of recruiting, not so much used anymore.” Gustav hurried to cover. “But I was recruited and made friends with the Snickets. Its how I ended up here, working for Jacques.”

“You knew both of them? Kit and Jacques?”

“And Lemony.” Gustav added, quieter. “We were all quite close when we started. We were formidable. Nothing in the world could have stopped us.” His gaze looked somewhat distant, and Olivia stood quietly until he continued. “Olaf, too, I’m sure Jacques told you. He was there in the beginning. Esme as well. There were loads of us. Thinking we could change the world.”

“What happened?” She asked, softly. She’d set the watering can down again. Gustav hardly noticed, his brows knitted together.

“I – I’m not certain all of the details, if I’m honest.” He admitted. “But Beatrice, Bertrand, Lemony, and Kit were on orders to attend a theatre one night. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but Olaf’s parents ended up dead, and the very next day his fortune was ripped from him. All of it. He’s been fractured from the organization ever since and several others have followed.”

“Olaf’s an orphan?”

Gustav nodded. “Only the four there and Olaf know the entire truth. The only one left to tell is Kit and she refuses. Olaf too, for the obvious reasons.”

“That’s awful.” She commented quietly. “You mentioned orders?”

“There’s been leaders of the organization here or there. Usually defacto.” He stepped forward to help adjust some of the arrangements of flowers, pulling ones from the back to the front so Olivia could more easily reach them to water them. “It’s usually always been a Snicket.”

“Including Charles Snicket?”

Gustav looked sideways at her.

“He was, once. Then it fell to his daughter, Emily, Kit, Lemony, and Jacques’ mother.” He replied. Olivia felt her stomach twist into knots again. Charles Snicket, leader of the VFD, had tried to recruit her as a child then. The name wouldn’t be coincidence. How she wished she had her parents to ask, to question why and how and when and the other thousands of questions that crossed her mind. She fell silent then, focused on the plants before her as if they might impart some long forgotten wisdom.

“We really are good people.” Gustav broke the silence between them quietly. “We try to be. Things were different before, and they’re different now. We want to help people. Better the world. The organization before was . . . not as kind, I think. It’s unspoken of course, but Charles Snicket wasn’t a good man in the end.”

Olivia absorbed the information quietly, collecting it in her mind. It answers some questions of course, but not nearly enough of them.

“I’m happy to be a volunteer.” She settled on as a reply. “I want to help people. Especially those children.”

Gustav offered a kind smile.

“Of course. Maybe you’re just what they need.” He wiped his hands on a nearby rag. “Speaking of, I should go and check on them.”

“Do you think I should?” Olivia offered, and he shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it. I know it’s difficult, but whatever you two decide to tell them I will follow one hundred percent. For now, I’m just assuring their happiness and that you are resting and on the mend.”

Olivia smiled kindly and he offered her a short bow before leaving. Olivia was left alone again, with the flowers and her thoughts for company. At least the plants weren’t nearly so loud.

So VFD had been around her, growing up. They’d tried to take her – though she was _certainly_ glad she hadn’t been dragged from her bed. Her parents had known, and never told her. Perhaps she truly was an orphan akin to the Baudelaires and the Quagmires. It made the news all more terrible to process.

As she continued, she rolled up her sleeves to keep them from getting dirty while she worked. It was a clouded day outside which meant it wasn’t nearly as burning hot in the greenhouse as it could have been. Time seemed not to exist to her in the midst of the plants, her mind whirling over information both new and old to try and make sense of it. Gustav had answered some questions of course, but created several more that only egged her further on in her search for answers of her own.

This time when the door opened, she looked up. Jacques Snicket arched a brow at her state.

“Not one to rest, are you?”

“Never.” Olivia replied with a warm smile. He crossed to her and she set the watering can aside, noting the box he had tucked u under his arm. “Are we going through evidence, then?”

“Gustav told me you were here, so I thought as much. But perhaps not in here. It’s a bit stuffy.”

Olivia acknowledged it with a nod, and he held the door open for her. She took a deep breath of fresh air as they stepped out onto the path. The grey clouds above looked as if they might threaten to spill open at any moment, the air smelling very much like rain. The calm before the storm.

Jacques led her off another side path to a sheltered grove just before the back garden gate. A gazebo with a table and chairs nestled inside awaited them. It was secluded, quiet, and the perfect place to go over stolen evidence.

“We’ll need to head back to the city by tomorrow afternoon.” Jacques remarked quietly as they sat next to one another. “I fear Esme and Olaf will plan something awful to us here otherwise. The city makes it harder for them to get to us.”

Olivia nodded in agreement, gaze drawn to the box as he sat it before them and opened the lid.

The same pieces of newspaper clippings and photos faced her, as well as what she had determined to be the burnt bits of spyglass. Jacques sorted through it all in silence, pausing when he reached the large group photo to confirm her suspicions of it being of the early organization. His gaze lingered on the faces of the ones gone, resting last on his brother Lemony for some time until Olivia put a hand on his arm.

“You miss him, don’t you?” She ventured, and he nodded.

“I do. Annoying as he was.” Jacques said quietly. Olivia squeezed his arm in comfort as he set the photo aside gently, turning his attention back to the other bits and pieces. “Most of this is articles from before the fires, and just after. Esme having copies is strange, but not enough to blame her or Olaf for them.”

She sat up a bit straighter, sliding into an all-business sort of mode. Whatever blurred boundary they had crossed last night, she was keen not to let it interfere with their most important role as guardians, and volunteers.

“But these might.” She pulled a few pieces of paper folded multiple times over and shoved in an envelope out. “I only glanced at them before, but I think they’re letters between Esme and Olaf plotting it. Or at least some of them are. Not so much in direct words, but it’s obvious enough.”

Jacques’ brows furrowed as he read through them, and Olivia dug further into the box.

“We can compare these to samples of their actual writing and prove it was written by them.” He murmured after a long moment. “There’d be no denying it.”

Olivia, recalling the mysterious letter in her room, hesitated.

“But it isn’t enough. We need something very hard to prove they set the Baudelaire and Quagmire fires. I don’t know what, but – _something_.” Olivia huffed in frustration. “I don’t want yesterday to have all been for nothing, but there isn’t nearly enough in here as I thought there would be.”

“It wasn’t for nothing.” He insisted. “There has to be _something_. These photos of after the fire – those are clearly accelerant stains which proves the arson.”

“But it doesn’t prove Olaf or Esme were there.” She pointed out. “They won’t believe us in a court if we present this. Especially if they’re paid off by Esme.”

Jacques fell silent again, and together they continued to comb through the various bits of paper and photography for a solid bit of evidence. Olivia paused on a photo that while normally wouldn’t be out of place, but something didn’t settle right with her.

“This is of the Baudelaire fire, isn’t it?” She asked slowly, and Jacques stopped to look.

“Yes. Their library – or what was left of it.”

Olivia pointed to a corner of it, a small swath of fabric visible at the edge.

“What is that, do you think?” She asked, and Jacques took the photo with gentle hands to examine it closely.

“A piece of clothing?”

Olivia leaned over eagerly, nodding.

“Yes, I think so. They obviously took photos of their crime but this piece of clothing must be attached to an outfit. Which I’m certain I’ve seen before. What sort of fabric is it?”

“I can’t tell – but it looks . . . “

“Pinstripes.” Olivia finished for him firmly, smiling slowly. “Which, if I recall in the papers, were very _in_ the fall of the fires. I’m _certain_ I’ve seen Esme photographed in a pinstriped outfit, and Olaf too. They wore matching ones, on a cover story for some likely fake charity somewhere in the city.” She continued, speeding up as she grew more excited. “If we can prove this was an outfit of Esme’s or Olaf’s that _proves_ they were there.”

“I’m not sending you back into that house.” He warned sharply. Olivia blinked. “I’ll send Kit. They’ll go back to the city when they realise we’ve gone as well. Kit will be able to break in when it’s less crowded and try to find the outfit.” He turned to her, a slow smile worming forward. “Have I told you lately how brilliant you are, Olivia Caliban?”

Olivia grinned broadly. It wasn’t a perfect evidence and rather circumstantial, but it was a start at the very least.

A loud roll of thunder interrupted their discovery, the only warning before rain began to pour from the skies in sheets. Shielded by the gazebo they were in, Olivia watched and listened. For a moment, it was easy to imagine it putting out the fires of the world, defeating their enemies. Putting an end to Esme and Olaf. Give her back her bookshop. Everything would be right in the world. Right as rain.

“Is there anything else we can gain from this?” She asked after a moment, turning her attention back to their scattered chaos across the table. “The spyglass pieces – is there a way to prove who’s it is?”

Jacques plucked a burnt bit of metal up and turned it over in his hand.

“They’re usually marked, for everyone’s sanity to try and keep them separated should they go missing.” He commented. “This isn’t Bertrand or Beatrice’s. Or either of the Quagmires.” His thumb brushed away some of the blackened soot that still clung to the outsides. “What’s left of the symbols looks like it’s been scratched at. Like someone tried to erase them.”

“I imagine if an organization was responsible for the death of my parents I’d want to erase every symbol of them.” Olivia commented quietly, and Jacques’ gaze fell on her. She mentally chided herself – right, Gustav had told her that. She had meant to keep it to herself.

“Gustav.” She added at his look. “I imagine Olaf might have scratched those symbols out. But if it is his, we’d have to explain the business of the organization. Reveal VFD.”

“Which isn’t an option.”

“It is to six children.” Olivia replied softer, and his brows knitted together again. “We must tell them something, Jacques.” Her own parents had left her in the dark. They were as well. “They deserve better. Deserve better from you as their guardian. We should tell them.”

“You’re very determined.” He commented gently, and Olivia squeezed his arm again.

“So I’ve been told.”

He leaned forward, and for a moment her heart skipped several beats thinking he might kiss her. Instead, he pressed his forehead to hers in a very intimate gesture, and sighed softly.

“Very well. It should come from us before they find out on their own.”

“Thank you.” She breathed, and the tension in her chest lightened by only a fraction of an inch. There was still so much to sort out, especially when they returned to the city. She was putting some hope in her mysterious letters that the author, whoever it was, would find more information than they were able. Still, their small pile of evidence was a start. Now if only they could find out who in the city they could trust.

The rain showed no signs of letting up as Jacques gathered everything to put back into the box. Olivia watched from the entrance of the gazebo, fat puddles beginning to form around the path.

“I’d say make a run for it, but I’d only slow you down.” She mused faintly as he appeared at her side, box tucked under one arm.

“It’s just a bit of rain. I’m not afraid to walk.”

He offered his arm like any gentleman, and Olivia tried not to look hesitant to throw herself into the pouring rain. Gingerly she wrapped her arm around his and gathered up her skirts in her other hand to keep them from getting dragged in the mud.

Cold rain hit her the moment they stepped out and she shrieked in pure shock. They were soaked before they even reached halfway to the house, and when she chanced a look at him and saw how utterly drenched he was, Olivia burst into laughter that lasted well until they were inside the back entrance and dripping water all over the kitchen.

“You look like a wet rat.” She remarked, and he wrinkled his nose.

“Speak for yourself, Ms. Caliban. You’re soaked.” He released her arm but didn’t immediately move away, grinning smugly. Olivia arched a brow and poked him in the chest.

“I half expected you to squeak.” She giggled, and Jacques’ expression softened.

“It’s good to see you laugh.” He replied sincerely. She tilted her head up and she wasn’t certain who made the decision first, but suddenly they were kissing. Olivia had decided she very much liked it, though being pressed against him, the both of them soaked to the bone brought a strange sensation. Still, it warmed her from the inside out.

Just as she put a hand against his chest to steady herself, someone cleared their throat nearby. She nearly jumped out of her skin, head snapping around to meet six mixed expressions.

“Sorry, did we interrupt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	11. chapter eleven

The room was relatively quiet except the fire crackling in the corner. Rain continues to pound against the windows of the library in great torrents, the sky beyond a dismal, almost dark grey.

Appropriate, Olivia thought silently.

Everyone was spread out among the sofas; Violet, Klaus, and Quigley took up one while Isadora and Duncan sat together on the loveseat. Across the table ( upon which tea had been placed) sat Jacques and Olivia, the latter holding Sunny in her lap. Both she and Jacques had changed out of their soaked clothing in favor of something warm and dry.

Neither Jacques or Olivia seemed to know where to start.

“You must understand that your parents were trying to protect you by keeping what we’re about to tell you out of your lives – as was my intention as well.” Jacques finally broke the silence, gently. “Recent events have changed the need for you to know.”

“Are we in danger from Olaf?” Klaus asked quickly.

“No.” Olivia spoke firmly.

“We exist to stop him. To stop anyone like him.” Jacques continued. “That’s what VFD does.”

He gave much the same speech he gave Olivia the night he introduced her to the organization. The children were quiet for the course of it; Olivia watched their faces as Jacques told them of their parents involvement, the schism, and the fires. Olaf. Everything. He seemed unable to stop himself now that he had started spilling everything. The hand of hers not ensuring Sunny’s comfort rested gently on his forearm in what she hoped was a comforting reminder.

“Did you know?” Duncan interrupted Jacques, looking at her. “When we hired you?”

“No.” She replied quickly. “Jacques recruited me the evening after Olaf’s visit because I wanted to help him, and to protect you.”

“You both lied. Our parents lied.” Isadora murmured softly, and Olivia felt her heart twist.

“So did mine.” The governess whispered. “I never knew. My cousins were recruits – they tried to recruit me, and my parents refused. It’s a, ah, very recent development.” She added, at Jacques’ look at her. “I understand why they never mentioned it. It was to protect me from the dangers of volunteering – I imagine your parents thought much the same.”

“But they still lied. It got them killed, this organization. Olaf murdered them. Why?”

“I don’t know.” Olivia said. “But Jacques and I are telling you now. You deserve to know, to make your own decisions. We’ve been working on gathering evidence against Olaf in the cases of the fires that killed your parents. We will bring him to justice. I swear.”

“You’ll forgive us if we have trouble believing that.” Quigley said suddenly, rising. He fled the library quick, uneven steps. Violet frowned, then rose to follow him.

“I understand if you need time.” Jacques said to the others. “We’re heading back to the city tomorrow. If you have questions I’ll answer anything I can.”

Sunny had grown heavy in Olivia’s arms, and she rose.

“I’ll let you talk. I’m going to put this little one to bed.”

Jacques met her gaze, lingering, before nodding. She gently lifted Sunny into a firmer hold in her arms, cradling the snoozing toddler to her as she quietly exited the room. Tiny fingers curled into the gentle fabric of her dress and she couldn’t hide the soft, fond smile. How second nature it was now, to tend to these children. Protect them. As if she’d always been meant for this. She pressed a soft kiss to the top of Sunny’s unruly blonde tufts of hair, wishing for all the world she could have kept the children out of this. Spared them their innocence – but no, their childhoods had been destroyed long before she had ever entered the picture.

Olivia was left to try and piece together what was left after the blows they had all taken. Piece by piece, putting six vulnerable children back together. She would not rest until she saw it done.

She took the steps upstairs slowly, her ankle still aching here or there. Quiet voices echoed at the end of the second floor hall – she could see Violet and Quigley having a discussion near the entrance to the bedroom he shared with his brother. Olivia turned to the nursery, determined to give them space. It was clear all of them needed time, and she would not intrude.

Sunny only briefly stirred as Olivia removed her day dress and bonnet, draping them over the back of a nearby chair. Resting her hand against Sunny’s chest after depositing on her cot, Olivia counted her tiny breaths, the measure of each flutter of her heart. It was a comfort in a way she couldn’t quite explain, thumb brushing across her cheek. Sunny murmured something she couldn’t quite make out, but didn’t wake. Only shifted, fingers curling and uncurling around invisible things to bite.

“She won’t remember this.”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder; Violet had entered in near silence, lingering in the doorway. Olivia didn’t immediately respond, which prompted the girl to step further into the room, almost to Olivia’s side.

“She won’t remember our parents.”

“Of course she will. She’ll remember because you and Klaus will be there to help her.” Olivia replied gently, turning toward the other. With another twist of her aching heart, she realized Violet had been crying: the faintest traces of puffiness around reddened eyes said it all. It was clear she was trying to hide it, however, so Olivia did nothing to bring attention to it.

“I’m afraid we’ll forget. That I won’t remember everything about them.” She whispered.

“Memories come and go.” Olivia agreed softly. “But the ones we love never truly leave us, Violet. I’ve heard very brave and brilliant things about your parents, and I’m certain your memories with them will last your lifetime.” A pause. “But, if you are worried – might I suggest a journal? I used to, when I was your age. I was always afraid of forgetting things, so I wrote them down. You could write one of memories of your parents – from your mind and from Klaus. You could look back on them, and Sunny will be able to read them when she’s older.”

Violet gave a hum of acknowledgement, but neither agreed or disagreed. Her gaze was firmly fixed on her little sister, watching her sleep.

“I can’t imagine what you or the Quagmires are going through right now.” She continued, to fill the silence. Her voice low so as not to wake Sunny. “But you know I’ll do everything I can to protect you.”

“The people who promise that usually end up dead.”

Olivia frowned, looking down at her hands wrapped around the worn wood of the cot. Silence took over the room in a stuffy way until she was nearly about to excuse herself to return downstairs.

“Thank you.”

It was so quiet, she barely missed it, but Violet had spoken it all the same.

“I want to believe you.” She added in the same, whisper of a voice. “I do. I want Klaus and Sunny to feel safe and happy again.”

“And you, Violet?”

“My happiness lies in theirs.”

How fast Violet had been forced to grow in such a short amount of time. Sometimes Olivia forgot she was still only a child, but had been playing mother to her two younger siblings all the while since their parents’ deaths. Trauma had forcibly aged Violet Baudelaire, and Olivia felt the rest of her heart shatter in empathy.

“You’re allowed to be happy too.” Olivia responded. “And you don’t always have to be so strong. Not with me.” She offered. “I can’t – I know – just know that I am in your corner. Always. Even if you distrust Jacques and I now, I still am a good listener and can make a decent cup of tea to soothe your worries. But you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to break down. Some books say it’s better for you, really. Bottling it up isn’t good for your health or mind.”

Again, Violet hummed in neither agreement or non.

“I should go back downstairs. The others will think I’ve gotten lost.” The eldest Baudelaire spoke after another moment.

“Of course.” Olivia conceded. “I’ll follow you shortly.”

The rest of the evening passed unremarkably. When she returned to the library the children were still asking questions, and Jacques looked as if he’d been facing a firing squad. While she didn’t have answers to a lot of their questions because she was still learning about VFD herself, Olivia listened and busied herself with replacing the tea when it ran low or cold.

While she’d assumed exhaustion would come for the children first, she found herself nodding off despite her best abilities. With a sharp reminder that it was nearly midnight for the lot of them, she excused herself again, this time to her room. She needed to at least do some semblance of packing for their trip back to the city tomorrow; she grabbed most of her wardrobe in one fell swoop, depositing it into the trunk without much fanfare and shut the lid. Good enough.

Dressing down for bed, she crawled between the sheets with a heavy heart and an aching body. She felt guilty leaving Jacques to finish their line of questioning, but her time in the forest had drained her and she still didn’t feel as if she’d caught up entirely on sleep. Besides, there was still the letter to dwell upon – she had tucked it in between the pages of her journal with the other one, puzzled over their contents and even more so by the mysterious writer behind them.

A friend, she hoped. Or a clever foe. But judging by their enemies, she wouldn’t think most of them capable of something such as that. Part of her longed to write back with a list of the myriad of questions in her mind, on her tongue, but the no return address and mysterious arrivals left her no clues about where to send a response, much less who would be behind them. It was frustratingly curious, and while another part of her felt guilty not bringing them to Jacques, she would hold off until the author of said letters made another move. Gave her more information that would be beneficial – she hoped.

    - - -

The journey back to the city was uneventful, and Olivia was more than happy to see the townhome again nestled between the others like it along the street. The noise felt jarring after the quiet peace of the countryside, but it only took her until lunch to readjust to the setting. The children had been quiet on the journey back, barely speaking a word, and holed themselves up in their rooms the moment they returned. Olivia made sure tea and lunch was sent their way, and hoped she wouldn’t be met with too much rebellion if she mentioned starting their lessons again. As much as she wanted to put them off until the whole mess was sorted, there was no telling how long it would take.

“We’ll have to take him to trial.” Jacques remarked from his place by the parlor window. Olivia glanced up from her book, sitting up a bit straighter on the sofa.

“Of course. He won’t be able to deny it publicly with the evidence, but we must be careful about who presides or what other law enforcement might try and hinder our intentions.”

“I’ve already written a letter to Kit asking her to use Dewey’s connections to try and get information on who she can in the city that might even remotely have ties with Olaf. I want to know if they even had breakfast in the same café together.” His frown deepened. “Then we can go from there.”

“It will take time.” She pointed out softly. “We’ll need to be prepared in case they decide to go on the offensive, especially with what knowledge and evidence we might have against them now.”

“I’m ready for them.” His tone darkened and it was Olivia’s turn to frown. He paused, then added: “We’ll be ready.”

“I hope you’re right.” She murmured. “He’s uncontrollable at best.”

Jacques turned away from the window, striding over to sit in a chair close enough to the sofa that he could reach over and take her hand. He didn’t, but Olivia half hoped he might. She liked the comfort it brought her; he had not spoken of their newly changed relationship since the day before, however, and while she tried to put it out of sight and mind, she hoped he hadn’t suddenly had a change of heart.

“Don’t think I don’t know what he’s done to you.” He continued suddenly, meeting her gaze. Olivia blinked.

“I – ah – what?”

“Isadora told me.” He said. “The bookshop just off the main square. It was yours.”

Olivia looked down at her hands in her lap, folded neatly over the cover of her book.

“Oh, yes. It was my father’s. Then mine. Now it’s – well, it’s closed. Olaf and that no-good group of questionable solicitors insisted I couldn’t keep the property or titles or anything else my father left me because I, ah, wasn’t a boy. Or married to one. Very old fashioned, stuck in their ways.” Her frown returned. “It’s why I came looking for a job, actually.”

“As glad as I am to have you here,” Jacques did reach out to take one of her hands, curling his fingers around her own to bring it to his lips and kiss the back of her knuckles. “I promise you’ll have everything returned to you by the end of this. The children will have their happy ending, and so will you.”

“And what about your happy ending, Jacques Snicket?”

His lips twitched at the corner as if he wanted to say something, gaze lingering on her hand in his.

“I’ve learned there are no happy endings for me. Snickets aren’t quite known for them.”

Her hand squeezed his and she leaned forward just to be closer.

“You deserve happiness too, Jacques.” She murmured. “Surely you must see that. You’ve done so much in this world that the universe would surely not deny you your happy ending. Not here. Not now. Your tale will not be all sorrows and woes.”

His gaze traveled back up to meet her own.

“Your confidence is inspiring, you know?”

“Only because I mean what I say. Truly you should know that by now.”

“Am I interrupting?”

Immediately caught off guard, they released their hands as if suddenly burned, heads whipping around to the doorway. Kit Snicket stood there with a knowing grin and her hands on her hips, looking as if she’d just caught a child with their hand in the cookie jar.

Jacques cleared his throat.

“Not at all. I, ah, didn’t hear you arrive.”

Kit only beamed brighter, and deposited herself onto the sofa next to Olivia. For the first time Olivia noticed the bag at her side bursting at the seams with files, all of which she unceremoniously dumped on the table before them.

“This is the first half.”

“The first _half_?” Olivia blinked.

“Dewey’s bringing the rest shortly. Insisted on it. Wouldn’t let me bring them all in my ‘condition’, as he calls it.” Kit rolled her eyes. Jacques inhaled so sharply that it sent him into a coughing fit immediately, and both Kit and Olivia frowned at him.

“Are you all right?” She asked, concerned, and when Jacques managed a nod Olivia looked over at Kit. “And you? Condition?”

“Oh, right! I didn’t tell you last time because I wasn’t sure, but the doctors confirmed it. The Snicket bloodline isn’t done yet – I’m pregnant.”

Jacques leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling, scrubbing a palm across his face while Olivia’s face brightened and she hugged Kit suddenly. The Snicket sister seemed utterly surprised and uncertain for a moment, before wrapping Olivia in a tighter hug in return. She glanced at Jacques over Olivia’s shoulder, laughing.

“At least one of you is excited – I imagine Jacques is just upset he never got around to it first.”

Another coughing fit, followed by a pillow arcing neatly over Olivia and into Kit’s face.

“Absolutely not.”

“Don’t be so surprised, brother. I am married and all. What did you expect married couples to do? Spend all day in bed and -!”

“Enough!” He practically shouted, and Olivia bit her lip to hide her smile. “I do _not_ need to know any details of how you spend your time, Katherine.”

“Ooh, haven’t called me that in ages. The country really did something for you. Tell me, did you and Olivia -.”

“Kit!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter, filler chapter just because I needed them back in the city for what's happening next! Stay tuned!


	12. chapter twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a few errands (and olaf is garbage).

For a few days, there was peace.

No mysterious letters, no life-threatening incidences, and for that Olivia was grateful. Lessons took up most of her day again and she was thankful for the distraction, even if they all seemed on edge. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Their peace during the days was fragile and while her six charges seemed wary of her and Jacques, they had once again warmed to the both of them after another lengthy questionnaire about the organization. Afterward, it was as if a heavy weight had been lifted off the house. Things seemed brighter. Happier. If only for those few precious days.

Jacques and Kit had taken care of officially filing reports with a contact within the police department, who had issued court summons to all those involved. Quite frankly Olivia would be surprised if Olaf showed at all. Their research had been careful and very throughout, ensuring there would be a responsible judge and other members of court who were neutral parties, or swayed within the favor of VFD.

Her fingers felt stiff and shaky as she dressed that morning clumsily managing to button her dress. She was nervous, jittering about in effort to get it all out of her system. It would not do to let Olaf see her fear, which is what Jacques had told the children the very night previous. All of them had been adamant in attending despite Olivia’s protests and quite frankly she hadn’t the heart to stop them. They deserved to be there. She merely wanted to ensure their safety as much as possible.

Smoothing invisible wrinkles from her smart-looking dress and adjusting her glasses on her nose, Olivia looked at herself in the mirror for a long moment. Yes, she looked every bit of the proper bookkeeper she had been before in appearance sake. Beyond, though, she could sense a change. For the good, she hoped. The thrill of being a volunteer sang in her blood in a way she hadn’t felt before, giving her purpose. A chance to fight against those who would seek to do wrong and do harm. And while there were still some aspects of the VFD organization she questioned, her loyalties lay with the children and Jacques, against their enemies in any form.

However, Olivia Caliban was very aware their time together would come to an end.

She wasn’t certain how soon, but she couldn’t imagine needing to stay on once Olaf was resolved and the children had been tended. Sunny wouldn’t need to start proper lessons another few years yet, and the others were already so brilliant and bold and brave that Olivia knew they would soon outreach what she could teach them. She would not be needed forever, and the thought rested uneasily in her stomach.

Her heart twisted in a way she found unfamiliar when she thought of Jacques. Partners, he had promised. But once the children no longer needed her, would she still be a volunteer? Or would he move on to someone far better suited? She had hoped to continue on in the path of being a volunteer, thriving on the experience so far (despite unfortunate accidents and injuries). But what would happen to her, when all of this was over?

She tried to swallow back the difficult thought as she joined the others downstairs. All were dressed smartly, though not a one of them spoke. They wedged into a carriage together in the same tense silence, headed for the centre of the city.

She hoped it would be enough.

Though quite honestly, she would be surprised if Olaf even showed his face to trial when the time came.

She knew very little about the justice system beyond what books she had read, most of them in the day and a half previous. She’d spent hours with Duncan and Klaus pouring over whatever law books she could find in the library that might aid them, and the combined efforts of their work were listed in neat lines on small bits of paper she had tucked into the bag that also carried the bulk of their evidence, all from the box.

The courthouse, attached to the city hall, was not fancy but it did it’s job. Olivia had never visited because she’d never had reason to, though it seemed there were firsts for everything. The children kept close to Jacques and herself as they traversed the steps together. Their path from here on out would ensure there would be no turning back.

A short stop with the secretary at the front desk, and they were led to a small, empty courtroom away from the main hall. The children sat together on the front bench, Olivia with them; Jacques remained standing, pacing with nervous energy until a door across from them opened and a woman she’d never met entered, followed by a police officer that looked vaguely familiar. She couldn’t quite place his features, and tried to put that thought to the side as Jacques spoke.

“Your honor.” He greeted kindly. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us today.”

“Of course, Mr. Snicket.” The woman said in kind, and some of the tension seemed to melt within Olivia as the woman looked across the lot of them. “Hello, children. Ms. Caliban.”

“Have we met?” Olivia asked quietly.

“Not formally, but I’ve heard much about you.” The woman mused, extending a hand. “Judge Strauss.”

Olivia took her hand, and watched as she shook each of the childrens’ hands in turn.

“You’re a judge?” Isadora asked immediately, and Strauss grinned.

“Oh, yes. It’s a recent development, actually. I owe a great deal of it to Mr. Snicket, here.”

“Is that why you’re agreeing to this?” Klaus pressed.

“Klaus!” Olivia admonished gently, and Strauss quirked a brow.

“I owe him a great deal of favours, yes, but that’s not why. I agreed to hear you out because I believe you, Baudelaires and Quagmires. And I believe your guardians. I think it’s only fair – but I warn that I cannot promise any outcome. If this goes to capital trial as I suspect it might, it will be a jury’s decision. Not mine. I can only preside.”

“So he still might walk free.” Duncan ventured.

“Not if we have anything to say about it.” Jacques said fiercely. “Olaf will not walk a free man. I will ensure he spends the rest of his life behind bars.” The look he threw Olivia told her he would settle for far worse, too. A darker part of her agreed; she feared they would never feel safe unless Olaf was permanently removed from existence. A stain that needed scrubbed out.

Strauss took a seat behind the bench at the front of the room, and the police officer stood off to the side. Olivia still couldn’t help but feel she recognized him from a photo perhaps, or something else. Wariness settled in as Jacques began to explain the situation and their findings. Her mind tried to recall, combing through memories until she settled on one. She had indeed seen the man from a photo, in the organization’s meeting room. Larry, she thought she remembered Jacques saying. A member of the organization.

Perhaps they might survive yet.

Through a rehearsed presentation, she and Jacques lay forth all the evidence so far against Esme and Olaf, particularly in regards to the fires that consumed the Quagmire and Baudelaire homes. Strauss remained silently throughout, examining the photos and the letters with a curious, critical gaze as she took even every detail verbal and otherwise.

When they walked out of the hall only an hour and a half later, it was with the promise of a trial the following week. A summons would be taken directly to Esme Squalor and Count Olaf and while Olivia knew within her gut the backlash would likely be dangerous, it felt gratifying to know they would get their day in court.

Even the children seemed a touch lighter; at the very least, their smiles had returned and they were talking animatedly amongst themselves. Forgoing the carriage for the return journey with the weather holding on to be quite lovely, they agreed to walk the length home. Keeping a close eye on the children, Olivia tried not to dwell on the upcoming week. It would be a lot of preparing, ensuring their evidence would be readily accepted by a jury. A jury they needed to make certain did not contain any of Olaf or Esme’s so called friends. Kit had begun that process for them in some regards, using connects she had within the city and the city’s government to hopefully make sure the right people would receive the jury summons.

It would not be an easy fight, she knew.

Lost in thought as she was, she didn’t recognize the path the children were taking through the city until it was far too late and they’d already turned the corner. She blinked out of her own thoughts and let the sounds of the city coming crashing back around her as she halted, frowning at the building at the corner.

“I’m sorry.” Quigley said at once. “I wasn’t thinking.” The children had stopped too.

“It’s all right.” She plastered on a flickering, faint smile and reached out to touch the glass of the front window. Inside was dark and she could see no more than a few feet through the curtains that had been drawn across the inside.

“ _Writ and Wisdom_.” Jacques read, fingers tracing delicately painted letters of the shop name just above her head. Letters she could remember her mother touching up with a gentle hand and practiced grace. They were startling to chip at the edges, the lines not as sharp or clear as they should have been. Olivia swallowed thickly. Her gaze continued along the window – notices had been posted about the shop’s closing, signed at the bottom with Olaf’s childish scrawl.

“I will have it back.” She said quietly, determined. “When this is over.”

“Do you want to go in and make sure things are okay?” Violet offered.

“I don’t think it would be proper to break and enter in the middle of the day.”

“Nonsense. It’s yours anyway, no matter what Olaf or anyone else says.” Duncan agreed. Olivia couldn’t muster up a protest, her longing to see her books more than she cared to admit. Just a quick peek. Violet was already pulling a pin from her hair and using it to pick the lock with a practiced ease that should have been questionable, but neither she nor Jacques said a word.

When it clicked open, she gestured for Olivia to go first.

Fingers wrapping around themselves, Olivia steeled herself and stepped forward into the dim main room. Shelves lined every wall space and lined the aisles – or what used to be. A few steps in and her foot nudged something on the ground; she couldn’t see what until her eyes adjusted. Her stomach dropped out from beneath her as she realized the books had been ripped from their shelves, piled unceremoniously in the floor where they lay. Some pages had been ripped out in the process. An entire shelf near the back was completely overturned on top of another pile of precious antique books her father had collected, ones she hadn’t been allowed to touch as a small girl.

Olivia felt the tears before she could stop them, bile rising in the back of her throat as footsteps sounded behind her, the others shuffling into the room. A light illuminated gently; Jacques had withdrawn his spyglass to offer some torchlight. It only made the horror of the situation worse until Olivia felt sick with disgust and fury and an overwhelming sadness. Her life’s work, her parents’ work scattered and left to rot on the dusty floor, half destroyed. Almost mocking. Or almost as if someone had been looking for something.

Wiping furiously at her face, she stepped gingerly over the pile of books nearest to the door toward the counter. Small trinkets and handmade book covers had been on display in a small glass case, but those were gone and the glass shattered in pieces. The register had been turned over and smashed open, money gone. The tears continued. She shouldn’t have entered. Perhaps it would have been easier, to pretend to think nothing had been touched. That her life hadn’t been essentially ripped to shreds. Seeing it made it all the worse.

The door to the workshop at the back where her father and then she had worked on repairing the bindings of books and prepared small orders was locked, and she couldn’t bring herself to unlock it. The other door that led upstairs was wide open, however, and she took the steps gingerly toward the flat above.

The windows hadn’t had curtains drawn over them so daylight made it easier to see here. She wished it hadn’t. When she had been forced to vacate she’d taken what she’d been able, but most of the larger things she’d been unable to rescue. The kitchen cabinets were torn open and porcelain plates and dishes shattered on the floor. Trinkets on the shelf by the door were the same, photos and paintings that had once decorated the walls now sat beneath broken glass on the floor. It was in much the same state as the shop downstairs – overturned, destroyed, and _ruined_.

Olivia couldn’t stop the heave of a sob or the noise it made escaping her.

She couldn’t bring herself to go any further in, collapsing instead on the rug in the center of the main room. Gazing around through her tears, she felt suddenly as if it had been _her_ who had been ripped apart, overturned, destroyed, and ruined. It hadn’t been burned by fire, but a spiteful part of her wished a fire had claimed it instead. Ashes would be easier to face than the suffering this was intended to cause.

She heard the footsteps on the stairs and wiped furiously at the tears on her face to no avail. It wouldn’t do any good, she knew. What a mess.

A hand on her arm and a handkerchief offered, she knew without looking Jacques had come looking for her. Alone, thankfully. She didn’t want to look such a mess in front of the children. He was quiet, his fingers rubbing soft circles on her arm and back almost subconsciously as she tried to pull herself together.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered quietly, when she found her voice. “I shouldn’t have come in.”

“Don’t apologize, Olivia. _Ever_.” He murmured, using his other hand to touch her chin gently and draw her gaze to his. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through, but it pains me to see you so unhappy. If I knew magic to restore this place in an instant, I would. It didn’t deserve this. Neither did you.”

“He’s a horrible creature.” She muttered, using the handkerchief to wipe her eyes and nose after casting another long glance about the room. “The books can be saved, I hope. This – my parents’ things . . . .”

“I’m sorry.” Jacques wrapped her in his arms and she fell into them quite easily. Burying her face in his shoulder as he held her, her eyes burned with the force of keeping her tears at bay. She felt safe in his arms, yes, but being surrounded by the ruins of everything she had known felt bitter and tasted like ash in her mouth. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and held her for several long minutes until she could regain control of her breathing and felt her body stop trembling. Even still, she couldn’t bring herself to leave the comfort of his arms. If only the circumstances were better.

“I wish I knew what to say to make it okay.” He admitted quietly after another few moments of silence. Olivia tilted enough to look at him.

“You and I both. But you’re here for me. That’s – it’s more than I could ask.”

Another kiss, this one to her forehead, soft and tender. The ghost of a smile flittered across her lips, brief and fleeting.

“Thank you, Jacques. With everything in me.”

He smiled warmly, and through combined efforts she found her feet again. She continued to dry her face and sniffled a few times to try and clear the thickness from her voice.

“Do I look presentable, then?”

“You always do, Ms. Caliban.” He offered out his arm and instead, Olivia took his hand in her own. Her stomach felt knotted and tension cramped her muscles, but when she met his gaze again she felt for the first time in a while that somehow, everything would be okay.

Their tale would not be all sorrows and woes. Not this one.

She tried not to look around the shop as they moved to the door, Jacques locking it quickly behind them. She breathed in the fresh air and the smells of the city – the pastry shop just down the street, the vague scent of rain on the air, and the smoke from a fire somewhere not far off – it helped clear her mind from the staleness of the air from inside.

The six children met them on the sidewalk at the front of the shop, and turned to look at her as she and Jacques approached.

She wasn’t sure who moved first out of all of them, or if they simply moved as one, but she found herself in the midst of a massive hug from all of them at once. Even Sunny, her small arms looping around Olivia’s neck from her sister’s hold. She felt her tears nearly start all over again at the gesture, and wrapped as many of them in her hold as she could. It must have looked a sight on the sidewalk in the middle of the day, but she didn’t care.

Yes, things would be okay in the end. And perhaps she would indeed have a place among them afterward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter that i originally wrote way longer in connection to the chapter that will follow this one, but had to cut down which is why this one seems a bit short. i promise more feels and dangerous situations in the next!


	13. chapter thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face - writer? - returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY for the delay. Real life has been a complete drag and I haven't had time. Forgive the shortness of this chapter, but I felt I had to cut it off where I did for the sake of the next chapter!

_Meet me in the park at dusk. I’ll find you._

The letter had come to her like all the rest, except it had been short and sweet and right to the point. She felt wary, still uncertain who had been sending the mysterious notes. However, the previous letters had promised help and trust. If there was anything that could help them pin Olaf and Esme to the crimes of the fires, she would risk it.

“Olivia?”

She looked up at the soft voice at her door, surprised to see the eldest Baudelaire lingering in her bedroom doorway.

“Is everything all right?” Olivia asked, noting the conflicting expression on Violet’s delicate features.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything and I can promise the best answer I can give. You can close the door, if you’d prefer.” She offered gently, folding the note back up and tucking it into her journal with the others. Violet did shut the door, and moved to sit with Olivia on the edge of her bed as the governess placed everything back into her bedside table. Violet looked concerned, worried, and confused – a mix of expressions Olivia did not often see on her. Usually confident and cool, Violet looked uncertain and didn’t look up at Olivia, choosing to focus on fidgeting with the lace on one of her sleeves.

“How did you know you liked Jacques?”

The question caught Olivia off guard, and for a moment she considered. It wasn’t the question she had been expecting, in truth. How would be best to answer?

“I enjoyed spending time with him.” She replied slowly. “I still do, of course. He makes me laugh, he’s kind, and he treats me fairly.” Olivia hummed in thought. “Every time he looks at me, I get butterflies.”

Violet nodded, absorbing this answer and considering. Olivia watched her, and after a moment more reached out to catch Violet’s hands in her own. She had an inkling of an idea why she’d asked such a question, but didn’t dare voice it for fear of upsetting the girl. She didn’t have very much experience in romantic affairs, but was acutely aware that Violet (and by proxy, the other children) didn’t have a mother to help aid them in such endeavors. Olivia was that figure now.

“Did you tell him first, or did he tell you?” Violet asked after another beat of silence, fingers squeezing Olivia’s in silent thanks.

“I think it was mutual, in the end. We were both stepping around the feelings, but Jacques made a move before I did. But it’s not an exclusive role – if I’d had any courage I think I would’ve done it first.”

She nodded again.

“If you had, what would you have done? Flowers?”

“I don’t think so, but those are never a bad choice. Something personal might have better suited. I would have made something, I think, were I any sort of handy.” Olivia smiled faintly.

Violet ducked her head.

“Do you know what Quigley would like?” She half whispered, glancing toward the door. Olivia’s smile grew gently.

“I think he would like anything you gave him, Violet.” Olivia replied. “You’re so clever and brilliant that how could he not?” The girl blushed faintly, cheeks colouring a soft pink. “You could even simply write a note or a poem.”

“He wouldn’t reject it?”

“He looks at you like you put the stars in the sky, dear.” Olivia mused softly. Violet’s cheeks went darker. “He would be a fool to reject you.”

“Thank you, Olivia.” Violet cleared her throat quietly, squeezing Olivia’s hand again before reaching out to hug her fiercely. Olivia held her tightly, pressing a fond kiss to her dark hair.

“I’m here anytime you need, for anything you need. I’m happy to help.”

“I’ll let you know when I decide on something.” Violet smiled, and moved to stand. “I owe you.”

“Not at all. It’s what I’m here for.” Olivia assured. “I love you all dearly. I only want your happiness.”

“You and Jacques both do. Which is more than we could ever ask.”

Violet left as quickly as she’d come, and Olivia smiled after her. No, there was nothing in the world that would stop her from ensuring the happiness of those children. She’d long since decided that factor – which is precisely why she would go and meet her mysterious messenger. Any evidence would help. Let Olaf and Esme even try to deny it, she would ensure they lived the rest of their terribly horrible lives behind bars.

Before dinner that evening, Olivia made an excuse to run an errand. Jacques seemed skeptical and offered to accompany her, but she declined with the promise it wouldn’t take her more than an hour. Hopefully. She was almost relieved when he didn’t put up more of a fight, clearly trusting her to defend herself if the need came to it. She would hope it didn’t come to that. The mysterious author of the letters seemed to want to help, and the good part of her still wanted to believe there was good people in the world, especially with connections to the organization.

The city was starting to settle as she set out. She wore a drab dress to avoid suspicion of someone her age walking around her own, keeping her head down but staying aware of the world around her. While there were good people in the world, there were just as many with ill intent. And she wasn’t entirely convinced Olaf and Esme wouldn’t try something idiotic, as in their nature.

Crossing the street at the end of their own, she turned right and headed through the park gates. Despite the near evening hour, there was still some manner of activity happening. Couples enjoying a stroll, children running about, the normal sort of thing. The message had ensured that the writer would find her, and Olivia couldn’t help but study the faces of any of those she passed to see if they were familiar. As if she would recognize the face of her mysterious writer. Ridiculous, she knew.

The park began to empty as the sun began to set further behind the buildings, casting long shadows across the ground. She wove her way along the path to a stretch lined with trees along the riverbank. There were even fewer people now, with long stretches of time where she was entirely alone. Worry settled in the pit of her stomach. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come.

“The world is quiet here.”

She froze.

The voice was unfamiliar, but the words were something she had heard Kit and Jacques say quite frequently. Words of the organization – a motto, Kit had jokingly called it. She swallowed thickly, frozen to the spot before she gathered the courage to turn and face the speaker.

Time had not been kind to him since she had last seen him – or rather, a photo. There was a new bout of grey near his temple and more lines on his face visible even in the shadows where they stood. He was taller than she thought, a very commanding presence but with an air about him that he’d rather be anywhere than there. Or invisible, at the very least.

“Lemony Snicket.” She breathed, hardly daring to believe it.

“I’m afraid tales of my demise may have been exaggerated, Olivia Caliban.” He murmured, studying her with a critical eye. It made sudden sense, why he had sent the letters, their contents only just a tad more clear in the back of her mind. Jacques’ theories about his brother’s death had been correct. He wasn’t dead at all, clearly. A million and one questions settled on her tongue, but before she could voice a single one Lemony turned and moved toward a bench along the water’s edge. Olivia followed half a step behind.

“I suppose you’re going to ask me not to tell Jacques about this.” She blurted as the pair sat, facing the water. His lips twitched.

“I would be very grateful. It would be better for him and the rest of the organization to continue to believe me dead. I am risking everything by being here now.”

“Then why are you here at all?” She demanded quietly, studying his profile. Something in his expression softened by a fraction of an inch, his shoulders sagging beneath the invisible weight of the world he so clearly carried. He was young, she knew, but the world had not been kind. She imagined playing dead and forced to live on the run often did that to one. Despite the fact he was the youngest of the siblings, here and now he looked like he could have been years their senior.

“Because I want to help the children.” He settled on as an answer a moment later, brows knitted together. “They did not deserve any of this.”

“Neither did their parents.” Olivia pressed, and the twitch in his lips returned.

“No.” He echoed quietly. “No, she did not.”

Beatrice. Olivia imagined she was the pivotal reason he was here at all, then. Beatrice’s children and by effect, the Quagmires as well. Justice for Beatrice meant justice for the children.

“Then tell me how I can help them.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and watching the birds skim the surface of the river. Ducks, that landed close to the bank and began to preen their feathers. Lemony watched them as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. Olivia fidgeted and tried not to be impatient. He would help her, she knew. Otherwise there would have been no point to the letters, no point to this meeting. She bit her lip and clenched her hands in her lap.

“I investigated the sites of the fires very carefully. There’s evidence of accelerants blatantly left in the ruins. They weren’t careful in covering their tracks, which leads me to believe they paid off someone in the police force to ensure they couldn’t be traced.”

Olivia felt her stomach twist.

“So we’re back to having nothing. It’d be our word against a police officer that’s likely far more ingrained and respected than Jacques or myself.” She frowned.

“I am trying, Olivia. I do not want them free any more than you do.”

“Then tell me you have something tangible. Evidence that cannot be denied.”

“I traced everything I could. Their schedules during the time, where they were the moment the fires were set. I can prove they do not have alibis for the time of the fires.”

Olivia absorbed the information. Without an alibi, at least it meant they couldn’t prove they _weren’t_ the ones who set the fire. It was something. On top of everything already in their arsenal, perhaps it would help. But they needed more.

“You have to come to court. You have to testify against them.”

Lemony’s head twisted to look at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.

“I _can’t_.”

“If you testify against them, it would prove your innocence. You’d be free. You wouldn’t have to run, and you could be with your siblings again.”

“I _can’t_ , Olivia.”

“Then you’re being completely useless, Mr. Snicket. You promised to help us, to help those children. Yes, your evidence may work but if you showed up in court it would be undeniable.”

“You don’t understand -.”

“No, I do. Very clearly. You’re being a coward.” She replied sharply before she could stop herself. She’d regret it later, no doubt. Lemony had been helpful, if only slightly. _But it wasn’t enough._ “You’d rather preserve yourself and by doing such you risk we fail in putting them behind bars. If they go free, those children will be miserable the rest of their lives. All because you’re being a coward. You love Beatrice, I understand. What would she say to think you’d risk the lives and happiness of her children? I refuse to believe it. I had hoped Jacques was right about you – how much of a hero he painted you. How he looked up to you. You’re destroying every thread of those memories.”

She stood abruptly, before she lost her nerve. Fine. They would do this on their own. They would fight Olaf and Esme and win, without the help of Lemony Snicket, who clearly preferred to wallow in his own self pity than step up to truly care. Her anger and frustration kept climbing the longer he sat there staring at her, almost stunned by her little outburst.

“I’m going home. Thank you for your letters, Mr. Snicket. I hope you have a good rest of your evening, and your life.”

Something sharp stung her neck as she made to turn. Wincing, her hand flew to her nape and assumed to find a bee or wasp or some other offending creature. Her fingers closed around something much larger, and when she pulled away there was a slender, pointed dart resting in her palm with bright green feathers. She felt her blood run cold, as if someone had dumped ice water in her veins.

Immediately her vision began to waver. A grunt and she looked up – Lemony was pulling away a matching dart from his neck, whirling around to find it’s origin. Olivia turned too, expecting to see someone – but there was nothing but trees and shadows closing in from every direction. The world spun and she reached out to try and steady herself against the bench. Her fingers missed and she stumbled forward, collapsing into the grass.

_No, no, no!_

Another thump and she caught Lemony out of the corner of her eye collapsing backwards, eyes rolling back into his head. Olivia tried to fight the threatening blackness trying to drag her under. Footsteps were approaching. She wanted to scream, to cry out for help but her mouth would not comply. Her lips parted but no sound came out – a foot lodged itself at her ribs and shoved suddenly, rolling her over onto her back.

“Nighty night.” She could hear the sneer in Olaf’s voice from somewhere above her before his face filled her rapidly fading vision. “Sleep tight, _volunteer_.”

She couldn’t fight it any longer. Her eyes closed.

The darkness swept up to claim her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I look forward to your comments!


	14. chapter fourteen

She awoke with a splitting headache.

Olivia groaned as she shifted, head lolling about her shoulders as she began to regain some use of her facilities. Face scrunched in confusion she felt a chill sweep across the room, which was damp and dank and not at all anything even remotely comfortable – or at least, it gave off such a vibe. Dimly lit with flickering torches along the wall, it looked more like a dungeon than anything else and a sense of foreboding settled somewhere in the pit of her stomach the more she began to recall about why in fact she was in such a place to begin with.

“Morning.”

As her eyes adjusted and she squinted against her aching head, she was surprised to find Lemony in a small cell next to her own, separated by only a row of narrow bars.

“---Lemony?”

“In the flesh. How’s your head?”

“Pounding.” She sat up a bit further, wincing as she flexed her muscles to make sure nothing else hurt. Lemony was resting against the same wall on the other side of the bars, frowning. “We were – the darts . . . _Olaf_.”

“Unfortunately.”

Pushing herself onto her feet, the room swayed for a long moment. Forced to steady herself against the wall, Olivia tried not to let panic overwhelm her. Clearly they were alive for a reason. Olaf wanted something. Likely from Jacques, considering, but Olivia would not go down without a fight. She had the children to consider.

Stepping to the bars, she grabbed them and shook them furiously as if they might magically give way. They didn’t budge in the slightest. Eying the gap between them, she tested it and found she could barely fit her arm all the way through, much less the rest of her. Despite her aching skull, she tried to think. Focus. Anything to get her out of the situation, and Lemony – who hadn’t moved an inch.

“Are you going to sit there in the dirt or are you going to help me?”

“You assume I haven’t already tried every means of escape I know while you were unconscious.” He quipped back, and she scowled vaguely in his direction.

Whether or not Jacques or Kit or anyone else would save them, she was not going to sit idly by and _wait_ , though it seemed to her Lemony was most content in doing so. Scanning the one solid wall afforded her no ideas as there weren’t even windows barred over. She still had no idea what dank basement dungeon they’d been locked into either, which made it all the more difficult. Nothing else in her nearby surroundings afforded her any leading information. Right. Square one.

“Satisfied you aren’t going anywhere?” A drawl from the shadows answered her silent thoughts, and she turned too quickly; the knock on her head made her dizzy immediately, and it took Olivia a moment to right herself enough to focus on the grizzled looking man on the other side of the bars from she and Lemony.

“Olaf.” She seethed. “You won’t get away with this.”

He barked a sharp laugh, stepping closer to the bars. Lemony still made no motion to move.

“Don’t start going all noble, _Caliban_. I warned you to get out while you could. You had your chance and didn’t take it, so now you can sheep what you sow.”

“ _Reap_. Reap what you sow.” She corrected irritably. “We will escape.”

“You can try.”

“Jacques and the others will come for us.”

A clawed hand suddenly reached between the bars, latching onto the front of her dress and jerking her sharply toward him. Her breath left her lungs as she hit the bars. She recoiled from the smell his breath offered as he inched his face as close to the bars. Too close. She cringed and twisted her face away – his hand only came up to grab her sharply by the face and drag her gaze to his.

“I’m counting on it.” He sneered, and for the first time Olivia saw something truly _dark_ in his gaze. Dark and terrible and for all intents and purposes, _evil_. He released her as suddenly as he had grabbed her, shoving her away from him and the bars.

“We know you orphaned those children. We have the proof.” She caught herself from stumbling, eyes narrowed. “Enjoy your freedom while you can, you horrible man. Soon you’ll be in a cell of your own.”

“Your confidence would be adorable if it weren’t so _annoying_.” He snarled at her, and for the first time his gaze went to Lemony. “Anything to say, Snicket?”

Lemony only leveled him with a gaze that if looks could kill, Olaf would’ve been dust in the wind.

“Make yourself at home.” Olaf continued, and headed for a door on the other side of the room. “You’ll be here a while.”

The door groaned shut behind him. Olivia glared after him.

“You could actually stand to help, you know. Jacques said you were clever.” She turned to Lemony, frustration mounting. If Olaf expected Jacques to come, it couldn’t be good. She would _not_ be the reason Jacques put himself at risk for her. And she certainly wouldn’t let Lemony either, whether or not Jacques knew his brother was actually alive or not.

“It’s a futile attempt, Olivia.”

Something snapped.

“You listen to me, Lemony Snicket.” She spoke sharply, the no-nonsense tone she reserved for misbehaving children “And you listen to me well. Your brother and sister are no doubt heading toward us right this moment and waltzing straight into whatever trap that man has set for them, which you know as well as I do is nothing good. If something happens to us, to them, there is nothing stopping Olaf from going after those children. I will not sit idly by and let that happen, and if you valued Beatrice Baudelaire’s memory _at all_ , you’d at least try to be productive and helpful in escaping to ensure their safety!”

Her chest was heaving by the time she finished, face flushed with anger. She had enough to deal with and a moping, meant-to-be-dead author would not make the short list of her priorities. As much as she hated to fling Beatrice into his face, it seemed to have at least gotten through somewhere because he stood, dusting his suit off as if nothing had happened. There was a firm set to his jaw, however, that much she could tell even in the flickering lighting. She’d struck a nerve.

She’d apologize once everyone was safe and well. But not a moment before then.

Before he could speak, the door opened again and Olivia nearly groaned.

“Thought you could just play us, didn’t you?” Esme sneered as she swept into the room as if she owned it and the surrounding building. She’d graced them with an outfit that – well, Olivia wasn’t quite sure if it had once been the sails of a ship or linens from a long dead mummy. Ridiculous at any rate.

“Of course not.” Lemony spoke at once before Olivia could open her mouth, but it was still Olivia that Esme seemed to set her sights on, taking up Olaf’s previous position at the bars.

“That’s what you get, you horrible little thief.”

Olivia frowned through the metal poles at Esme’s utterly irate expression.

“Big words from an arsonist.”

“They deserved what they got in the end.” Esme snarled. “Just like you will.”

“Leave her be, Esme.” Lemony said sharply. “Your fight is with me.”

Esme’s gaze flickered to the adjoining cell, and seemed to deem Lemony worth her time because she shifted to stand in front of his bars instead.

“My _fight_ is with anyone who thinks they can steal from me and get away with it.” She replied, voice laced with venom. Olivia was wary to take her gaze away from the irritating woman, but glanced about to see if she could spot keys of any type in the narrow room that perhaps she’d missed in her first glance-over.

“So you decided you wanted revenge that badly you’d work with the Count? You know he’s going to toss you aside as soon as he gets what he wants.”

“We’re in _love_ and you’re a liar, _Snicket_. Just like your dead girlfriend.”

Lemony flinched, but Esme didn’t seem to notice.

“You don’t have the same goals as him. Not the same endgame. He’ll see that and throw you back.”

“Shut _up_.”

“I know where the sugar bowl is.”

That drew both Esme’s and Olivia’s attentions.

Olivia knew remarkably very little. In the time she’d spent reading books in the secret room in Jacques’ library there had been brief mentions of a sugar bowl or various terms for it. Nothing specific, not even why it was so important – which was why it had puzzled her at the time as to it’s great meaning. Now, faced with the scene before her created even more confusion. What on earth was so important about a piece of a tea set? Something inside it, perhaps?

“I’ll tell you where it is, if you agree to let Olivia go. As I said, I’m the one who stole from you. Your fight is with me. Jacques will come for me, not someone as less as his hired help.” Lemony didn’t spare her a glance, and Olivia flinched. Payback, she thought wryly. For her comment about Beatrice. She swallowed her retort.

Esme glanced to Olivia, then back to Lemony.

“And why would I bother?” She asked, but Olivia could see the first hints of her wavering. Lemony knew what he was doing, though she still couldn’t fathom what was so important about a sugar bowl that would warrant her freedom.

“Let her go, and I’ll tell you right where it’s hidden. You can go there yourself or I’ll take you to it. You’ll have it back, and you can abandoned Olaf before he abandons you. No need to go down with an already sinking ship – you and I both know the other volunteers will see him jailed or worse. You’re better than that.”

“I’m far too pretty and rich to be locked away in a place as awful as this.” She remarked, glancing around the cells with distaste. There was a long stretch of silence in which Esme seemed to consider her options. Olivia held her breath.

“Fine, Snicket. I’ll let your brother’s servant go. And then you’re going on a trip with me.”

Lemony only nodded, watching with sharp eyes as Esme withdrew a set of keys from somewhere in her dress that Olivia didn’t want to think about.

 _Oh, you poor idiot woman_.

She watched cautiously as Esme languidly unlocked the cell door to Olivia’s cage and stepped aside.

“Go on then. Get out. Snicket only told me to let you out. Getting out of this place without being caught is your problem, not mine.”

Esme had barely finished her sentence before Olivia snagged her by her hair and slammed her head against the bars. Not terribly hard, but enough that Esme stumbled briefly.

 _Idiot_.

Esme seemed briefly stunned that Olivia had dared to fight back. She gave an inhuman screech and lunged forward – Olivia sidestepped and let Esme stumble past.

“You infuriating little cretin.” Esme hissed.

“You’re the one who let me out.” She replied casually, as if her heart didn’t feel like it might jump from her chest at any moment. Just how much in danger she truly was.

“And I won’t be making that mistake again!” Esme flung herself at Olivia again; Olivia used the woman’s own momentum and grabbed her, thrusting her against the metal bars with much more force. Esme collapsed like a ton of bricks into a pile of hideous fabric.

“Right. That was easier than I thought.” Olivia murmured, and took the dropped keys. “Sorry about that. Mind your head when you wake up.”

She stepped over Esme with adrenaline coursing through her veins. It had felt good, and as much as Olivia would have loved to punch her square in the face, she’d settle for knocked out. Quickly and quietly she unlocked Lemony’s cell doors, and the larger man dragged Esme into his cage and locked the door.

“Jacques teach you that?” He inquired, arching a brow at Olivia as he dusted his hands of invisible dirt.

“No, actually.”

Lemony’s lip twitched briefly, before the pair set off for the door.

She let Lemony lead, the both of them lapsed into silence. The hall was nothing special, just more dark stone until it led to a metal set of stairs that looked like they had seen better days; she had her doubts Olaf and Esme got she and Lemony both down them, unconscious, on their own. She refrained from touching the rusted railing, hands worrying themselves in front of her as they climbed. Jacques would be worried. The children would be worried. She hoped they wouldn’t do something illogical, any of them. Jacques especially.

“Can I ask you something, Lemony?” She ventured, breaking the silence as the stairs seemed endless.

“You just did.”

Olivia ignored it.

“What happened to Olaf? Why is he so hateful of the Baudelaires? Jacques mentioned . . . he mentioned something about an evening at the opera.”

She heard him inhale sharply, but his step did not falter.

“It’s a very long story, Olivia Caliban.”

“We have a very long set of steps to climb.”

Another pause.

“I’ll tell you once we’re on the other side of this mess. It is not a tale I would rather relive right now.”

He offered nothing more, and Olivia frowned at his back. Her own curiosity ate away at her – but it seemed Lemony would not sate it or her with answers. Not now. They fell back into silence as Lemony carefully opened a door at the top of the steps just a crack to peer through.

Deeming it safe, they stepped into the room. Another basement, she realized belated. A laundry room. Or so it appeared, with washbasins everywhere and piles of linens both clean and not. She picked up a sheet from a pile of clean ones that had yet to be folded, her attention caught by the green and gold stitched symbol.

“A ‘D’?” She turned to Lemony.

“The _Hotel Denouement._ ” He answered with a mirror of a frown.

She’d seen the building numerous times; it was near the heart of the city, a massive structure with beautiful architecture.

“The brothers who run it are all volunteers. Two on our side, one on the other.” He explained before she could ask. “I would imagine Ernest offered this as a place to hold us without the knowledge of his brothers. It sounds like it might be easy to escape the lobby of a rather busy hotel, but there are eyes everywhere, both good and bad.”

“Disguises, then.” Olivia offered, and nodded to a row of coat hooks with green and gold uniforms. “’Very Fancy Disguises?”

“If we can make it to Frank or Dewey, we would be in far better straights.”

“So we go and find them in disguise.”

“It isn’t so easy. It’s near impossible to tell the three of them apart. The only one I know capable of it is my sister.”

“That’s the _Dewey_ she’s with? Dewey Denouement?” Olivia blinked at him. “I didn’t realize.”

“I prefer not to consider what my sister gets up to in her free time.”

“You and Jacques have that in common, then.” She quipped, and moved to grab the uniforms. “I’ll just, ah, go over here and change, then. I don’t know how long Esme will be out, or how long until Olaf notices she’s missing. We should be gone before either of those things happen.”

Lemony’s lips twitched again, but he offered no rebuttal as he picked a uniform for himself.

“Are you in charge now, Olivia Caliban?”

She tossed him a look over the top of the pile of laundry.

“If I have to be. I’m a volunteer and I take that responsibility very seriously. Your brother might do something rash if we don’t do it first and I’d rather limit his risk to life threatening situations because I care about him and the children very much.”

“He was right, you know. In choosing you.”

Olivia paused, and offered Lemony a smile, the first one she’d given him since their meeting.

“Thank you, Mr. Snicket. Coming from you, I take that as the highest compliment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took me ages to get out. I had the flu over the holidays, and I was also waiting for series three to come out and I am SCREAMING. If anyone else wants to scream about it with me, come find me over on tumblr as beatricebaticeer.


	15. chapter fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a penultimate peril.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry for the delay. Life happened, and then I had serious writer's block because while I knew what I wanted to happen, I had no idea how to get there. The hugest shout out and hugs to Starcrier, who helped me out so much with this chapter and who is just in general an amazing person and writer and I am happy to call them friend!

 

She tugged lightly at the collar of the uniform. It was starched and stiff and itched uncomfortably at her skin at her neck. Lemony looked just as uncomfortable at her side – at least she wasn’t suffering alone. Olivia readjusted the uniform, unable to keep from fidgeting. The more she thought about it, the more antsy she grew.

The lobby of the hotel was busy, guests floating in and out with an opulent air that matched the decorated interior of the building. No one had noticed them of course, the pair of them wearing concierge disguises with dark glasses, and Olivia had tucked her hair up into the hat so she looked slightly less feminine. It afforded them an easy way to observe (and hopefully go without being caught). Olaf was still somewhere, as well as Ernest. Esme too, once she woke. As much as she wanted to flee straight out the front door of the lobby, Olivia knew there were far greater things at stake.

If she could take down Olaf here and now, she would. She had no clue as to what his plans were precisely, but she could imagine it wasn’t good. Anything to get out of a public trial or being accused of trying to kill the children, of being accused of _certainly_ killing their parents. Finding out his plans would be a huge step up from their current position, and while donning their uniforms Lemony and Olivia had agreed to take the risk of lingering to try and find something to give them the edge against the villain.

How strange it was, thinking back on how mundane her life had been some time ago. Would she have ever thought to be playing spy in the middle of a hotel lobby? Part of a secret organization? Madly in love with a dashing, handsome man? She blinked, startled at the last – love?

Did she love Jacques Snicket?

Now was certainly not the time to ruminate on such a life changing thought, but the warmth that filled her chest – oh, it was hopeless to try and deny it. Perhaps she’d tell him. Later. Much later. When things were far less life threatening.

Lemony nudged her in the side and Olivia dragged her attention back to the task at hand. He nodded across the lobby – a man, tall and thin and well dressed had appeared behind the front desk.

“Dewey, Ernest, or Frank.” He murmured. “As I said, they’re impossible to tell apart.”

“Then how do we know who to trust?”

“We don’t.”

“You are being incredibly unhelpful.” Olivia muttered in frustration. “Why don’t you go and figure out which one is which? I’ll keep an eye out.”

Lemony didn’t give it second thought – or perhaps, time for Olivia to force him into doing it. He disappeared around a pillar with the next influx of guests crossing through the lobby and Olivia found herself alone.

Not alone.

Her eyes narrowed – was that?

 _Olaf_.

He was getting into the lift in a poorly framed disguise, looking murderous at the innocent people that climbed on with him. The bellhop shut the grating behind them, and Olivia watched as it began to ascend. Without thinking, she followed.

Pressing herself close to the wall, Olivia took the steps quickly as she could. The uniform offered free range of movement much like her borrowed clothes from Jacques, and thankfully none of the guests stopped her to request another towel or a message delivered or some other inane quest. The lift stopped on nearly every floor to let people off, but Olaf never budged from what she could see.

All the way to the top, then.

Out of breath by the time she reached the top floor, she was dismayed to see him disappear around a corner to the rooftop. That was never a good sign, evil villains creeping in places they shouldn’t be. Especially on a roof of a very fancy hotel that for some reason had a jail beneath it. She tried not to judge too harshly, but the entire series of events felt very strange and surreal when she compared it to her life beforehand. A life she was certain she’d never be able to return to even if she wanted. Would she even want her bookstore back by the end of everything?

Of course, she thought. A stupid question. Her father had built the business and she owed it to him, to the books that were still in pieces that needed loving hands to repair them. She wanted her bookshop, but she didn’t want to give up being a volunteer either. The Baudelaires and Quagmires would not always need her protection, but she would give it as long as they asked. Her attachment to them had grown so fiercely.

It was that attachment and the knowledge that they would soon be safe that propelled her forward, following Olaf silently up the flight of steps that led to the roof. Someone needed to have a chat with the triplets about keeping roof access doors locked.

The crisp air hit her face as she eased the door open. The sun was just setting, casting the city in an array of golden colors. It would have been beautiful, were it not marred by Olaf and whatever he was planning. She cast a glance about the roof and for a moment, lost sight of him. Her brows furrowed. Where had he gone?

She crept further across the roof, glancing about. He couldn’t have possibly just disappeared. What purpose would he have on the roof anyway? The great dome of the hotel was lit up, the glass reflecting the colors of the setting sun – and unfortunately, were not as see-through as she had hoped. There was no telling what was on the other side. So Olivia pressed herself as tightly as she could to the glass and ignored the dizzying feeling the curve gave her as she inched around dome.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she crept around the edge of the massive glass design; pressed so closely she could see straight down into the lobby of the hotel. Small specks of people milling about, more gathering as the sun went down. Completely unaware of the events happening above. Olivia tried to still her wavering stomach at the height. She never had been fond of heights.

“You stupid, stupid woman.”

In the same moment she heard the voice just beyond, the breath left her lungs as she was slammed against the panels of glass. They shuddered with the force and Olivia wheezed, hands flying up to try and pry the fingers away from her throat. Olaf pressed against her with every ounce of force he had, head to toe, his lips curled into a snarl inches from her face and his breath hot against her skin. She flinched, gritting her teeth as she tried to wriggle free from his grasp, tried to get a grip on anything that she could use to pull herself from beneath him. He only tightened his grip and she gasped, breath coming in short pants as she tried to catch the air he was choking out of her.

Maybe splitting up from Lemony had been a terrible idea.

Olaf’s weight continued to crush against her, and for lack of any other ideas she nudged her knee forward between his legs. He grunted in pain, stumbling enough for her to thrown him off. Choking and gasping to catch her breath, Olivia moved as quickly as she could around the edge of the dome and away from Olaf.

There was no one on the roof at all, like she had thought. He’d lured her. Known she was following. Just how much had he planned for contingencies? The thought made her sick – though it was entirely possible that was the lack of oxygen as well. Rubbing her neck briefly, she ducked beneath a ventilation hood from a large fan before he could spot her.

“You meddled where you shouldn’t have. I warned you and you stuck your nose further into things and now you’re going to pay. I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to kill both Snicket brothers. And then I’ll kill those nasty children. I only need one of each set alive to get their money and when I have it, I’ll kill them too.” He drawled, conversationally. As if he were on a stroll. Olivia tried to focus on the way his voice rebounded, his footsteps on the concrete. None of what he said would come to pass. She was determined to ensure it.

His talking stopped, and for a moment Olivia thought he’d stopped moving – the footsteps were silent as well. Olivia didn’t dare move for a long few minutes, even afraid to breathe too hard for fear he might hear.

“Boo.”

The voice snarled near her ear and she jerked backward – he’d snuck around the opposite side and come upon her. She cursed silently, backpedaling quickly in the opposite direction. He only chuckled, watching her like a cat would a mouse. There was no place to hide, really. Not in the open as they were. They couldn’t dance around each other forever, which prompted Olivia to dig her feet into the ground and raise her arms, expecting a fight. His brow arched, lips curling into a disgusting form of amusement that made her stomach coil.

“Oh, a fight? What are you going to do, claw my eyes out?”

“Worse than that.” Olivia retorted sharply. “Afraid I might best you?”

He barked a laugh. “You really are stupid.” He commented, but none the less he crept toward her, body tensing and ready for a fight.

In truth, Olivia only needed to buy herself time. Eventually Lemony would realise she had been gone too long and would come – though she didn’t know how particular useful he would be in an actual fight. There was Jacques to think of too, but she wouldn’t hold her breath that he would even know where she was. Until then, it was her and Olaf.

Predictably, Olaf came at her first. She turned away from the blow just narrowly. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to land a hit on him – quite frankly, it wasn’t her first priority. That was simply staying relatively injury free and alive. Which meant playing defense until she had a chance.

They exchanged brief blows, Olaf grinning every minute. Toying with her. Clearly confident in his abilities and that he had the upper hand.

Olivia used it to her advantage.

The longer he went without landing a hit against her, the angrier he got. The more erratic his movements became. Olivia moved quickly to dodge, but her stamina was waning. She was still exhausted from whatever she’d been drugged with some hours ago. As he made a move for her again, Olivia let him brush past and stumble straight into the glass dome. He faltered, hitting the surface with a hollow noise.

In theory, she was hoping it’d knock him out. She wasn’t nearly so lucky. He seemed momentarily stunned if anything, and reached out to grab hold of her arm. Long, yellowed nails dug into the uniform and into her skin, the force of his pull sending her stumbling against him. They collapsed together against the dome glass and in her momentary confusion, he rolled them so he was straddling her against the glass with the hand at her throat once more.

“Enough.” He snarled in her face, leaning forward and for a disgusting, terrifying moment she thought he might kiss her. Irrational thought at best, but a thought that made her insides churn more than the thought of the sheer drop just on the other side of the glass that both their weights were leaned upon. His hand tightened at her neck and she tried to calm her breathing, force herself to focus, to find a way out of the current situation. A repeat kick to the junction between his thighs, perhaps – but when she swung, he narrowly avoided the motion and only leaned against her harder. Crushing the breath out of her.

Her nails scrambled against the glass beneath them, trying to find purchase. Scratching.

The glass.

For a very long moment, Olivia debated the consequences of what she was considering. Oh, the fall would surely kill her. But it would kill Olaf too and end the misery of the Baudelaire and Quagmires and Snickets all around. Everyone would be safe. Happy. Far better off without such a villain in the world.

But Jacques – her heart leapt into her throat. Would he ever forgive her?

 _I’m sorry. Please understand why I have to do this_.

Her scrambling fingers found the ring she often wore – it was her mother’s, or had been. A modest cut gemstone given to her by her father. She slid it to the top of her knuckles, and instead of punching Olaf, her hand slammed into the glass and she put what weight she could behind the motion, scraping the gemstone across the glass pane with a horrific screeching noise.

Olaf realized what she was doing as the glass groaned beneath them and the edges of her vision began to waver from lack of oxygen. He growled fiercely and jerked her roughly away from the glass as she moved to repeat the action. Her ring flew off her finger and skidded across the roof into the now darkness. He threw her to the ground some feet away, putting himself between her and the glass dome.

“You’re not getting out of this that easily.” He muttered darkly, and dug furiously in his pocket as Olivia tried to catch her breath, tried to force herself to her feet. He pulled a pistol and leveled it at her as she straightened, and she froze. Rooted to the spot. She glanced around the roof to look for something, anything that might help her. Little could stop a bullet.

“How cowardly of you.” She commented. Keep him talking. Distract him.

“Oh, shut up.” He ground out, cocking the hammer back and aiming it at her chest. “Maybe I’ll aim here. That way you’ll still be alive when Snicket comes to find you. You can bleed out in his arms like my parents did in mine.”

“You parents?”

“She killed them!” He roared, and Olivia flinched. She still hadn’t moved, breathing hard. More talking.

“I don’t understand, Olaf.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re a volunteer. You’ve been brainwashed with the rest of them.” He snarled sharply, gesturing wildly with the weapon before leveling it back at her head. “Beatrice is a murderer. They’re all murderers.”

“Beatrice killed your parents? Is that why you’re after the children?”

“She had the gall to blame it an accident!” He snapped. “I was there, I watched her – she _murdered_ them and expected to get away with that and her thievery!”

“The sugar bowl.” Olivia supplied quietly and he continued as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I wasn’t going to let her get away from it. When the house fire happened it was such a sheer stroke of luck. Orphaning three poor children with nowhere to go with their enormous sum of money. I knew it would make her roll in her grave, the idea of it all. So of course I did it.”

“Stroke of luck? You’re the one who set the houses ablaze!”

“Oh, I wish it were me. I’d feel more proud of my accomplishments if I had. But no. I’m not nearly to blame for either of those fires. Esme’s very vindictive when given reason to.” His lips curled into grimace. “The fortunes are mine. For _spite_.”

“You’re a very horrible man.” Olivia murmured, and he laughed.

“Are you truly just realizing that now? I thought you would have come to that conclusion after I destroyed your books.”

Olivia frowned.

“I should have set that entire place on fire. Especially after you turned out to be such a thorn in my side.” He rumbled. “Maybe I still will, after I watch you bleed out.” Olivia’s heard felt trapped between her ribs, pounding an unsteady rhythm. There was nowhere to run or hide. Nothing to defend against a bullet. Her thoughts turned to her previous plan, considering the glass dome behind him.

Would it still work?

She didn’t have time to second guess it.

The door to the roof opened with a loud groan and a sudden lurch. Olaf’s gaze faltered, turning to the intruder – Olivia didn’t stop to bother to see who it was. Using every bit of power she had left, she launched forward and grabbed Olaf by the torso. The gun fired somewhere just past her ear as she knocked into him and send them sprawling. They slammed into the glass dome and for what seemed like hours ticked by without anything happening – in reality, it was a fraction of a second before she heard the tell-tale crackling beneath them from the impact. The glass spiderwebbed out from the impact point, groaning with their combined weight against the weak spot she’d made with the ring.

Olaf’s eyes met hers, a furious and wild gaze that almost seemed afraid.

Fear coiled in her chest. But along with it came the notion that the Baudelaires – and Jacques – would be safe. Would be rid of Olaf for good. That was the life of a volunteer, wasn’t it? Putting one’s life before others for the greater good?

“Goodbye, Olaf.” She managed before the sound of the shattering glass filled the air and she felt it drop out from beneath them. Weightlessness left them hovering for a second and Olivia’s stomach flipped at the uneasy, unpleasant feeling of not touching ground. Beyond Olaf’s expression she could see the elegantly decorated lobby far, far below. The glass would beat them to the bottom, and perhaps warn others of their impending fall enough to let them get out of the way.

And then, they dropped.

Olaf’s grip on her slackened as he tried to scramble, to save himself, and Olivia let him with the knowledge that he _couldn’t_. That the fall would ensure his death as much as it would her own. She closed her eyes, and waited for the ground to rush up to meet her.

It didn’t.

She hadn’t fallen very far – if at all, before something latched around her arm and jerked her to a sudden halt. She grunted with the force of it, the wind knocked from her. Her head snapped up as fingers tightened on her arm – this grip far stronger, far more firm than Olaf’s had been.

“Jacques.” She breathed, staring up at him half hanging over the edge of the new opening of the glass dome. Clearly ignoring the glass digging into his skin as he focused all his efforts on keeping her from falling. Olivia couldn’t bring herself to look down, her stomach churning uncomfortably.

“Sorry I’m late.” He murmured, glancing beyond her. She could hear screams far below and she refused to tear her gaze away from the man above her. Hanging on to her for dear life. She could see the struggle clear on his face as he tried to hide it.

“We go down together?”

With a mighty pull, she felt herself being pulled back up and through the shattered paneling.

“No, Olivia Caliban. We go up together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	16. chapter sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aftermath.

The world spun around Olivia as solid ground swept up to catch her. Breathing hard, she tried to quell the panic rapidly rising in the center of her chest in warning, threatening to choke her. She’d nearly died. She’d been ready to die, to save the Baudelaires and Quagmires. Whatever needed to be done. Reflecting back on it made her panic rise like bile in the back of her throat. It had been foolish and risky and dangerous and –

“Olivia.”

Lying on her back, her view of the sky was obstructed suddenly by a rather handsome man leaning over her. His face was neutral but his eyes betrayed his worry, his own panic, and the rise and fall of his chest rapidly matched her own.

“Jacques.” She managed his name. “You found me. You caught me.”

“Of course I did.” He murmured and helped her to sit up. “Are you all right?”

“I think so.” Her hands shook and her chest felt tight but other than that and the aching bruises from her fight with Olaf, Olivia knew she’d survive. Jacques took up her trembling fingers, drawing her gaze to his own with another murmur of her name.

“It’s over.” He said gently. “It’s over. You’re safe. You’re amazing. You were brave and amazing and I’d have never forgiven myself if something happened to you.”

“Never?” Olivia replied softly, and saw the corners of his lips twitch briefly at the corners.

“Not ever.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple, wrapping his arms more firmly around her. As if to prove she was in fact still alive. Olivia buried her face into his shoulder for a long moment, trying to process the last several hours. Kidnapping. Near death. He had warned her the life of a volunteer was not an easy one. She’d never expected this.

In a span of a few minutes, reassuring each other was alive, they gathered their wits enough to take the lift back down to the ground floor. She could hear sirens in the distance as they vacated the rooftop. Was it truly over? It was difficult to believe, after everything.

Jacques squeezed her hand as the lift slowed and the doors opened to the chaos of the lobby.

Officers moved to cordon off entire sections of the lobby, mostly where large sections of the glass dome had come down. Others were tending to frightened, terrified looking guests while two out of the three Denouement brothers were speaking with the captain. No one looked seriously injured at the very least, for which Olivia was grateful.

She spotted an officer covering an unmoving Olaf with a sheet and felt her stomach twist.

She’d done that. Killed him. Sent him to his death. She couldn’t tear her gaze away, until an officer came over to her and Jacques and began questioning them almost immediately. She couldn’t speak; her voice felt trapped in her throat with the bile. Everything was a blur and she felt grateful Jacques had taken the lead. She was vaguely aware that Esme was being led out in handcuffs, though she spotted no sign of Lemony. It was as if he’d disappeared.

“Olivia!”

Her name shouted in several voices from across the lobby finally awoke her from her fog. She looked up, just in time to be surrounded by six very concerned children. She wrapped her arms around them fiercely in return, a sudden and very deep relief coming with seeing them in person.

“I’m so glad you’re safe.” She murmured.

“You were the one in trouble.” Klaus pointed out, frowning. “We’re glad you’re safe.”

“We were worried sick.” Isadora confirmed.

“I’m fine.” Olivia promised gently.

“What happened?” Quigley asked.

“Is everything all right?” Violet continued.

“Olaf!” Sunny cried, and silence settled across the small group for a moment.

“How did you get here?” Jacques asked sharply, suddenly, reminding Olivia that this was no place for them.

“That would be my doing.” Kit spoke up as she approached, and wrapped Jacques firmly in a hug before he could argue. “I was worried. They insisted on coming.”

The siblings exchanged a look Olivia couldn’t decipher and decided she likely didn’t want to. Instead, her attention went back to the flock of children. She offered out her arms for Sunny, whom Violet handed over gently. Olivia smiled at the familiar weight in her arms.

“It’s over.” She found herself repeating Jacques words. “You’re safe. Olaf and Esme won’t bother you any more.”

“I think it’s a story for later.” Jacques said as Kit released him, her face a mixed expression as she cast a glance to the officers now removing Olaf’s body on a stretcher. Olivia swallowed thickly the bile that threatened to rise again. It was difficult to consider his death as her fault. She wasn’t guilty, per se. Just remorseful it had finally come to that. But in a question of the children’s safety, she had not hesitated. She would put their safety above all else and Olaf had threatened that safety.

For revenge, part of her mind added. She pressed a kiss to the top of Sunny’s head and looked at Violet and Klaus. Revenge against their mother. She looked at the triplets. Revenge against their parents. He had clung to grudges from a generation ago, and had taken it out on the children. And her, Olivia added. Her bookstore. That was still a mystery to her.

Another mystery for another day.

“I’d like to go home, I think.” She announced after a moment, and the general consensus seemed to be an agreement. Kit seemed hesitant until Jacques put a hand on her arm and another one of those looks was exchanged between them. Olivia would remind herself to ask, perhaps later, if there had been any past between Olaf and Kit. She wanted to think so, but she had long since found that relationships with Snickets could be very, very complicated.

Jacques paused briefly to speak to the Denouements, before they were all piling in two carriages. Kit took one with the Quagmires, and Jacques and Olivia with the Baudelaires. They sat in relative silence, Sunny still wrapped in Olivia’s arms (half for her own comfort). Exhaustion had started to settle in her bones, along with an overall ache. She’d be bruised up and down for weeks, she could imagine. It would be easy to fall asleep with the soft rocking of the carriage and the muffled noise beyond, but Olivia fought it with every blink. She needed to be home, first.

Home. How easy it was to consider the Snicket townhouse as her home now. It was, of course. However temporary. Or permanent. Her bookshop was still in tatters. Besides, she hoped the children would still need lessons and Olivia intended to continue them. Any excuse to remain close to them, and to Jacques. All of that was thought for later, however. If only because she knew she would crash soon. Hard.

It was late by the time they were all climbing the steps to the front door, Gustav there to greet them. Even Kit hovered, hesitant, before heading toward the kitchen (likely to see about tea).

“You all should rest.” Olivia murmured to the scattered children. Despite their earlier panic and fussing at the hotel, they looked ready to drop.

“You should, too.” Jacques pointed out, looking sharply to Olivia. Her brows knitted together neatly.

“I will. But I’ll see you to bed first.” She offered the children. It seemed to placate them because not a one offered a rebuttal or protest of going to bed. Besides, the distraction meant she wouldn’t have to think about nearly dying. Or Olaf. Or anything at all.

The routine was familiar, and much needed as she saw the six of them to bed. Klaus and Isadora both had books open on their laps before he’d even left their rooms, reading in the dim glow of the candles at their bedsides. They all seemed satisfied in general that Olivia was safe, a fact Olivia herself was most grateful for. There would be much to discuss in the morning of course, but for now she would find the positivity in that it would be the first night’s sleep for the six of them without the threat of Olaf and Esme hanging over their necks.

She looked down at her hands as she headed back downstairs as if she expected to see his blood on them. She’d killed him. Accidentally or not. She had intended the glass to shatter, the ground and gravity to do their work on both of them. If Jacques hadn’t been there, surely she would have bene carted out on a stretcher from the lobby of the hotel as well. Perhaps while Jacques or the children or Kit watched. The sudden thought made her chest tighten again and her eyes sting painfully. The weight of the past day was finally coming down on her in full force, overwhelming her to the point she felt as if she were drowning. Lost in a vast sea with no way to surface among the waves.

Her feet carried her numbing body without thinking. She couldn’t drag herself all the way back downstairs. Couldn’t face Jacques and Kit with tears in her eyes like some fragile doll. Surely they’d dealt with this themselves before and rationally Olivia knew they likely could help, but the quiet, more embarrassed part of her forced her feet to turn and carry her swiftly back to her room. She sank against the worn wooden door with a half sob, half-whatever noise that escaped with it. The uniform was stifling suddenly, and her fingers fumbled over the buttons to remove it as quickly as possible. Gulping down great breaths of air, she used the cold water to splash against her face and neck. Trying to force herself back into rational thought and sanity.

Hands gripping the porcelain, she counted her breathing. Turned her mind to senses. Touch, taste, sound. Things to ground her and remove her from the downward spiral she had suddenly dived headfirst into without truly recognizing the signs. But the events of the night had forced her perspective into a stark reality. A man was dead because of her. A horrible, wicked man no less and yet, Olivia still found it difficult to accept it.

She changed into something to sleep in, combing a brush through her knotted hair until the bristles could make it through without snagging. Good enough. The exhaustion felt deep in her bones and her bed was calling. Tomorrow would bring talking and revelations and all sorts of things she knew she had to face. But she was brave. A volunteer. She could do it.

What she could not do, however, was sleep.

Despite her aching tiredness and the soreness of her body, sleep didn’t come. Every time she closed her eyes and felt herself beginning to drift off, it felt as if the bed had been ripped from beneath her and she was falling again. That sickening weightlessness she’d had for those brief seconds between the shattered glass and Jacques catching her. The panic would jerk her awake like a bolt of lightning, and the process would repeat each time she got close to sleep.

She wasn’t sure how long the routine went, but after the fifth time Olivia simply gave up. Reading, then. Reading would help. Crawling out of bed and belting her robe about her waist, she relit the flickering candle at her bedside and used it to guide herself out into the hall. Surely she could find something in the library to focus on long enough to sleep.

Another light in the hall caught her attention.

It was a few doors down from her own room, the softest of lights flickering in the darkness of the hall. Coming from beneath the crack in one of the doors. Jacques’ room. Surely he wouldn’t still be awake.

Her feet carried her toward his door before she could realize the illogical feeling behind it. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep with a candle still lit. It was late. He was probably tired.

The door jerked open when she reached within a foot of it. She leapt in surprise, stifling a noise in the back of her throat as Jacques hovered in the doorway. His expression was one of similar surprise – he certainly hadn’t expected her to be lurking. Olivia cursed silently. He looked like he hadn’t been to sleep at all.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He offered quietly, and Olivia nodded.

“You?”

He nodded, before stepping aside and holding the door open to her. Olivia slid past him and he shut the door behind him. Immediately she felt a sense of ease in a way she hadn’t before. His presence did wonders for her nerves.

She set her candle down and turned to speak, but her words died in her throat as she met his gaze. Those eyes. Handsome eyes, she’d always thought. Ever since he’d nearly run her down with his horse. Those eyes were a storm of emotions that evening, flickering dimly in the light. She could see them playing out behind those irises, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly they were. Was he worried? Scared? Frightened? She wished he’d at least tell her. She’d have helped, if she could. Perhaps he’d help her own terrible emotions, the ones keeping her awake.

She took half a step toward him, and he mirrored her. She felt her breath catch somewhere in the back of her throat. Beyond that, Olivia wasn’t sure who moved first but suddenly his lips were against her own in a fierce, all-consuming way that made her knees threaten to give way. Her fingers wrapped into the fabric of the collar of his nightshirt, losing herself in the pure and raw emotion the pair of them seemed to radiate with. The storm of emotions between them swirled and wrapped each other in their embrace, but the longer he kissed her the more she felt those worrisome, terrifying thoughts slip away.

Happiness, she thought. This is what it was. Jacques Snicket.

When they pulled apart to catch their breaths, he pressed his forehead to her own and took her face in his hands.

“I almost lost you.” He whispered fiercely.

“You didn’t.” She murmured, hands coming up to layer atop his own. Her fingers wound themselves between his. “I was foolish to think I could run away and deal with it on my own. I’m glad you showed up. Otherwise . . . .”

“Promise me not to do something like that again, Olivia.”

“You know I can’t. Just as you can’t promise that to me. We’re volunteers.” She tried half heartedly.

“Then promise me you’ll tell me if you decide to go off facing our enemies. We’re partners. Together or not at all.”

“Together or not at all.” She echoed quietly, and felt something unpleasant worm in her chest. “Jacques, I wasn’t alone – there were letters and I just . . . I didn’t know who they were from but they promised they were on our side, so I went.”

“Lemony.” Jacques murmured before she could finish, and she frowned.

“How did you know?”

He drew away, only slightly, to grab a folded piece of paper with his name scrawled across the front in a familiar script.

“Did you know he was alive?” She ventured timidly.

“I knew it was unlikely he was dead. I didn’t realize he was this close the entire time.” Jacques admitted quietly. “The hotel – I thought I saw a glimpse and then he was gone. He must have left when the officers started showing up.”

“But with Olaf dead, doesn’t that clear his name?”

“Not immediately. Someday it will, as things begin to unravel. But for now it’s safer everyone continues to think him dead.” Jacques tucked the letter into the book on his nightstand, and turned back toward her. It should have been a happy time, to know his brother was alive. But there was still so much to be done. So much of Olaf and Esme’s schemes to unravel. All their enemies were not yet defeated. Yet, Jacques offered her a warm smile that would make even the darkest world seem all right.

“I love you.”

Olivia couldn’t decide if she was more surprised at the words, or the fact that she had said them out loud.

His smile softened, and he sat on the edge of the bed. He took her hands, Olivia looking down as he drew her to stand in front of him.

“You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, Olivia Caliban.” He murmured. “And I love you very much. I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you every day from this point forward.”

Olivia was certain she had bent forward to kiss him then, his arms warm and strong and _safe_. She melted against him and for a long few moments, wasn’t aware of anything beyond the warmth he seemed to radiate whenever she kissed him.

“You need rest.” He murmured when they broke apart again; Olivia was embarrassed to find herself half on his lap. Ever the gentleman, he was. She bit her lip and moved to straight, but his hand caught her wrist.

“Stay.” He added. “Please. Just to rest.”

Olivia did not refuse. They were both exhausted. She nodded her consent, and he drew back the duvet for her to crawl under. He followed, and before Olivia could bother to ask if he had enough room or if she needed to scoot over more, his arm swept over and pulled her back against his chest. His heartbeat thrummed against her spine, his breathing steady and even and calming.

Curled beneath the blankets and nestled firmly in Jacques’ warm embrace, she drifted. Her fears did not surface that night; when they tried, she would feel the heavy weight of his arm around her waist and feel all the more safer for it.

Instead, Olivia dreamed.

 _It’s over_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so there's one chapter left, and it's a bit of an epilogue! stay tuned!


	17. chapter seventeen

Esme’s trial was a very short affair. Quiet for the sake of the organization and other volunteers. It wasn’t even truly a trial – she’d pled against the charges and there had been talks and negotiations and eventually, she’d been sent to a prison outside the city limits to serve a rather lengthy stay that would ensure she could never touch the Baudelaires or Quagmires again. Jerome Squalor hadn’t made any comments on his wife’s actions, instead clearing out their city home and retreating to their estate in the country without warning. Olivia thought it better for him, poor man.

Summer had come without preamble, a rare bit of warmth for the city itself. A wonderous change from the grey, dismal clouds that frequently clung to the skies with quite the force of determination. Olivia basked in it; so did the children. Often their lessons were outside in the back garden or at the park, though she had tried to make those less and less frequent so they could truly enjoy the weather. Jacques was even talking returning to the country estate for several weeks sometime in the near future.

The Snicket-Quagmire-Baudelaire home had lightened considerably and not just from the change of weather. The uncertain darkness that had haunted the lot of them had disappeared – though Olivia knew the children would never quite be over it. They were doing better of course, but on more than one instance she’d had to awaken them from the midst of a nightmare. On one particularly terrible evening they’d all ended up together in the floor of Violet’s room in a practical nest of blankets while it stormed outside. Whatever made them feel safe, Olivia complied. Anything for their happiness.

Around all of this, she’d tried to find time to return to her bookshop. The children came first, obviously, but she’d not been to the place since that fateful visit when she’d nearly been destroyed by how ruined everything had been. She told herself to be brave, to face it head on, but whenever she started to walk down that particular street she found herself avoiding it. Like a sickness. She couldn’t bring herself to face it. All those ruined books. Not yet.

“Olivia, we’re going to be late!”

Violet and Quigley stood at the bottom of the stairs as Olivia hurried down them, cautious not to trip. They looked equally pleased.

“You still haven’t told me what we’re going to be late _for_.” She reminded. “We haven’t anything planned.”

The only response she received was their matching smiles as they stepped out into the early afternoon sun. Quigley offered his arm to Violet and they set off together just steps ahead of Olivia, who followed with some confusion. The lot of them had been rather strange for weeks, though any investigation into why had proven futile. Even Jacques hadn’t the faintest idea what they were up to, which worried her immensely. Together they were a force to be reckoned with. There was no telling.

She followed Violet and Quigley down the street and across another. The sounds of the city thrummed all around. How much life had been returned to the place. As if Olaf and Esme had held some overall power over the entire city. She wouldn’t have doubted it.

The pair before her stopped suddenly, and turned.

“Do you trust us?” Violet asked suddenly, and Olivia narrowed her eyes briefly.

“Yes, of course. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”

Quigley instead produced a handkerchief.

“A surprise.” Violet answered. “But we have to blindfold you.”

Olivia felt her stomach twist uncomfortably, but made no immediate move to dissuade Quigley from tying the fabric around her eyes. She could feel the sun against her face but her vision had gone entirely dark. Instinctively a hand reached out to try and find some sort of landmark, and was caught by a smaller hand.

“This way.” Quigley said, and tugged her hand gently to encourage her forward. She followed with clipped, slow, and careful steps. She trusted them not to lead her astray – even if she was certain at one point on their walk she’d been led in a complete circle. She couldn’t imagine how it looked to outsiders, how ridiculous it would have seemed. She tried not to think about it.

Violet’s hand on her arm stopped her and there was a shuffle, before Olivia felt herself nudged forward into what she could assume was a building. The air was cooler and her face no longer felt fried by the sunlight. There was no noise here, nothing but the intoxicating aroma of –

“Surprise!”

A chorus of voices sounded as the blindfold was removed and Olivia found herself standing in the midst of a small crowd who had gathered around and pressed themselves between shelves upon shelves of books both old and new. Every wall was lined with them except the windows, which had been cleaned of grime and the lettering on the outside had been repainted in a vibrant gold. The counter had been repaired and refinished, the shelves fixed or replaced, and the books – Olivia felt her breath catch in the back of her throat as she turned her attention from the environment to the people.

The other children were there grinning like madly, next to Jacques. The now visibly pregnant Kit stood on his other side with her arm around Dewey Denouement. Larry and Gustav were wedged between two shelves. Another Denouement triplet (she assumed Frank) and a small gathering of faces she didn’t recognize, but could assume were other members of the organization.

Her bookshop. Come to life. Beautiful and brilliant and filled with the people she loved most in the world. How could she hope to keep from crying?

Jacques was there instantly to offer her his own handkerchief.

“You – I can’t – how? The cost alone to repair everything . . . “ She looked at him. He shook his head, instead nodding to the six children gathered near her.

“We contacted the bank and were granted use of our respective fortunes for what we called an emergency situation.” Klaus smiled. “We wanted to do it for you. A surprise. Jacques just helped us find who we needed. And Dewey supplied copies of the books we couldn’t repair completely.”

“As did a lot of the others.” Isadora added. “It’s a lot of normal books, but we thought it couldn’t hurt to have some for the organization scattered throughout. They could be helpful.”

Olivia offered out her arms, and gathered them up before they could continue.

“It’s beautiful. I love it. I love you, my clever, kind, and well read children.” She gave a watery smile.

“You helped us when we were lost.” Duncan said. “We wanted to return the favor. Jacques suggested it.”

“I don’t know how to thank you.” She glanced up at the others gathered. “Any of you.”

“No need.” Dewey smiled. “I was happy to help a fellow volunteer and librarian.”

“And I was happy to supervise.” Kit chimed, and Olivia laughed.

They dissolved into conversations across the store. Someone passed wine around in mis-matching glasses and finger foods had been set up along the counter for enjoyment. Olivia found herself browsing the shelves as she sipped a glass of wine, trailing her fingers across the spines of the books – _her_ books, now. Both old and new sat ordered, waiting to be read. To be bought. To be enjoyed.

Further exploration found that they’d even restored the small room in the back where she could repair damaged books and keep an extra supply. Glass cases beneath the counter protected more valuable books. The till was new. Her tools her new. There was a file system already set up, but with a note from Dewey that it could be easily changed if she liked.

“This is amazing.” She whispered to herself. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this. Any of this.”

“By being you.” Jacques rumbled, having stepped up beside her. Olivia turned and the warmth in her chest only grew. “We hope you like it.”

“More than anything. I hardly want to leave.”

“---you don’t have to, if you don’t want.” He nodded toward the door that led to the narrow stairs that led up to the flat above. She looked at him in question and he nodded again. “Go on.”

She didn’t need told twice. While the others were involved in other discussions, Olivia climbed the steps hesitantly and paused at the sight that met her at the top.

The flat had been restored as well. A spotless little kitchen, a sitting room with a new sofa and an armchair that looks as if it was just ready to someone to curl within it’s stuffing with a cup of tea and good book. Warm light filtered through the curtains from the window. Everything was in it’s place – repaired or replaced completely. Just as she’d left it. The tears came again.

“It’s livable again.” She murmured. “I love it.”

“Shall we send for your things?” Jacques offered quietly from behind her and her brows knitted together. Her stomach dropped out from beneath her.

“Oh.” She replied softly. “I wasn’t – I didn’t . . . I can do both. The children need their lessons and I can hire a second hand to help out here when I’m away . . . “ She trailed off and turned to look at him.

“Or,” Jacques began, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe the children could help you out here and you can hold their lessons here while they help you with the books?”

“Oh.” She repeated. There was a strange tension. “But what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“But I do. Of course I do. We’re partners.”

“Olivia, this is your dream.”

“My dreams have changed. They’re mostly of you. Your company. You – you make me happy, Jacques. You and those children downstairs. I can’t give any of it up. But I love this place too.”

Jacques mulled this information over, and gave her a curt nod.

“Right. Only one option left then.”

“And what would that be?”

“Marry me.”

Olivia felt the floor drop beneath her, the weightless feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“How is that a solution?” She blurted out. To his credit, Jacques laughed.

“It isn’t. It’s a question. To what I’m you have an answer to.”

“You’d really have me as your wife?”

“Wife. Partner. Co-parent. You’re everything, Olivia. To the children. To me. I’m selfish enough to admit that I don’t want to lose you.”

Olivia wiped her face furiously on the back of her hand. It seemed impossible. To know she had started over with nothing to her, clutching an advertisement put into the newspaper by six clever children advertising for a governess. To know that a man as fierce and brave and handsome as Jacques Snicket had fallen in love with her. To have her bookshop back.

She imagined this was true happiness.

Downstairs, more wine had made it’s way around the room. Olivia took a glass as it passed and Jacques raised his newly acquired one in the air.

“I’d like to announce something.” He said over the din of voices, which immediately silenced. “I’m happy to say that Olivia Caliban has agreed to do me the great honor of being my wife.”

There was an eruption of noise. More hugs. Laughter. Talking. New friends introduced themselves and offered congratulations. The children radiated sheer joy. Everything had settled into place. Olivia brought the glass of wine to her lips and regarded the room as a whole as she took a sip, before her gaze went to the golden lettering on the window.

_Writ & Wisdom_

Things would be hard to adjust to at first, splitting her time. Not to mention the organization – even with Olaf and Esme out of the way there were still other enemies to be had. Olivia needed more training. Everything would fall into place, she believed. She felt confident in that. Her arm wrapped in Jacques, Olivia felt herself to be content for the first time in a very long time. She would face every challenge presented to her. It was her duty as a volunteer - and with her partner at her side, how could they fail? Smiling and riding her emotional high, she let herself be enveloped in the various conversations and well-wishes and the general cacophony of noise that had invaded and taken over her precious bookshop. 

She'd worry about everything later. There was plenty of time and the night was young. 

Dewey approached her quietly later into the afternoon, offering out a worn book that looked aged with use.

“I found this when I was looking for books to add to your collection here.” He said, and Olivia noted the odd tone to his voice. “I wanted to give it to you in hopes you might find it inspiring. Or might share it with a particular someone who would be eager to see her writing again.”

Olivia gave him a quizzical look, but Dewey was already drifting back over to Kit. Curious, Olivia admired the outside of the book before she carefully opened the front cover.

_This journal belongs to Beatrice Baudelaire._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my gosh the response to this story has been so kind and overwhelming and i love each and every one of you readers, commenters, kudos-giving beautiful people who deemed my fic worthy of your attention and adoration. i hope you enjoyed this ride with me.
> 
> oh, and surprise! i already have a sequel started.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still working on my other fics, so don't fret. Simply enjoy this ride with my obsession. Leave your thoughts, comments, and other things below! This first chapter is an intro of sorts, and expect the first chapter with plenty more action!


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